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CASTLE   CRANEYCROW 


By 

George  Barr  McCutcheon 

GRAUSTARK 

THE   STORY   OF   A   LOVE   BEHIND 
A  THRONE 


i2mo^ $1.50 


Mr,  McCutcheon's  first  book  "Graustark" 
was  widely  popular  from  the  day  of  its  pub- 
lication. It  had  not  been  on  the  market  two 
weeks,  before  it  was  republished  in  Canada 
and  Great  Britain.  The  dramatic  rights  were 
contracted  for  in  Great  Britain  and  the  United 
States,  and  it  was  being  translated  into  Ger- 
man. French  and  Spanish. 

If  you  have  enjoyed  "Castle  Craneycrow" 
you  will  not  be  disappointed  in 

GRAUSTARK 

AT  ALL    BOOKSTORES 

Herbert  S.  Stone  &  Company 

CHICAGO 


CASTLE 
CRANEYCROW 


BY 

George    Barr    McCutcheon 

Author  of  Graustark 


Chicago 

Herbert   S.    Stone   and    Company 

MCMII 


COPYRIGHT  1902 

BY  GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

COPYRIGHT  1902 

BY  HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 

AL,l,  RIGHTS  agSERVED 


Issued  August  15,  1902 


75 


CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 


THE  TAKING  OF  TURK 

It  was  characteristic  of  Mr.  Philip  Quentin 
that  he  first  lectured  Lis  servant  on  the  supe- 
riority of  mind  over  matter  and  then  took  him 
cheerfully  by  the  throat  and  threw  him  into  a 
far  corner  of  the  room.  As  the  servant  was  not 
more  than  half  the  size  of  the  master,  his 
opposition  was  merely  vocal,  but  it  was  never- 
theless unmistakable.  His  early  career  had 
increased  his  vocabulary  and  his  language  was 
more  picturesque  than  pretty.  Yet  of  his 
loyalty  and  faithfulness,  there  could  be  no 
doubt.  During  the  seven  years  of  his  service, 
he  had  been  obliged  to  forget  that  he  possessed 
such  a  name  as  Turkington  or  even  James.  He 
had  been  Turk  from  the  beginning,  and  Turk 
he  remained — and,  in  spite  of  occasional  out- 
1 


14S5785 


2  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

breaks,  he  had  proved  his  devotion  to  the 
young  gentleman  whose  goods  and  chattels  he 
guarded  with  more  assiduity  than  he  did  his 
own  soul  or — what  meant  more  to  him — his 
personal  comfort.  His  employment  came 
about  in  an  unusual  way.  Mr.  Quentin  had 
an  apartment  in  a  smart  building  uptown.  One 
night  he  was  awakened  by  a  noise  in  his  room. 
In  the  darkness  he  saw  a  man  fumbling  among 
his  things,  and  in  an  instant  he  had  seized  his 
revolver  from  the  stand  at  his  bedside  and 
covered  the  intruder.  Then  he  calmly  de- 
manded: "Now,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I'm  lookin'  for  a  boardin'  house,"  replied 
the  other,  sullenly. 

"You're  just  a  plain  thief — that's  all." 

"Well,  it  won't  do  me  no  good  to  say  I'm  a 
sleepwalker,  will  it? — er  a  missionary,  er  a 
dream?  But,  on  d'  dead,  sport,  I'm  hungry, 
an'  I  wuz  tryin'  to  git  enough  to  buy  a  meal 
an'  a  bed.     On  d'  dead,  I  wuz." 

"And  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  an  overcoat,  and 
a  house  and  lot,  I  suppose,  and  please  don't 
call  me  'sport'  again.  Sit  down — not  on  the 
floor;  on  that  chair  over  there.  I'm  going  to 
search  you.  Maybe  you've  got  something  I 
need."  Mr.  Quentin  turned  on  the  light  and 
proceeded  to  disarm  the  man,  piling  his  miser- 


THE   TAKING  OF  TURK  3 

able  effects  on  a  chair.  "Take  off  that  mask. 
Lord!  put  it  on  again;  you  look  much  better. 
So,  you're  hungry,  are  you?" 

"As  a  bear." 

Quentin  never  tried  to  explain  his  subse- 
quent actions;  perhaps  he  had  had  a  stupid 
evening.  He  merely  yawned  and  addressed 
the  burglar  with  all  possible  respect.  "Do  you 
imagine  I'll  permit  any  guest  of  mine  to  go 
away  hungry?  If  you'll  wait  till  I  dress,  we'll 
stroll  over  to  a  restaurant  in  the  next  street 
and  get  some  supper. 

"Police  station,  you  mean." 

"Now,  don't  be  unkind,  Mr.  Burglar.  I 
mean  supper  for  two.  I'm  hungry  myself,  but 
not  a  bit  sleepy.     Will  you  wait?" 

"Oh,  I'm  in  no  particular  hurry." 

Quentin  dressed  calmly.  The  burglar  began 
whistling  softly. 

"Are  you  ready?"  asked  Philip,  putting  on 
his  overcoat  and  hat. 

"I  haven't  got  me  overcoat  on  yet,"  replied 
the  burglar,  suggestively.  Quentin  saw  he  was 
dressed  in  the  chilliest  of  rags.  He  opened  a 
closet  door  and  threw  him  a  long  coat. 

"Ah,  here  is  your  coat.  I  must  have  taken 
it  from  the  club  by  mistake.     Pardon  me." 

"Tanks;    I  never  expected  to  git  it  back," 


4  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

coolly  replied  the  burglar,  donning  the  best 
coat  that  had  ever  touched  his  person.  "You 
didn't  see  anything  of  my  gloves  and  hat  in 
there,  did  you?"  A  hat  and  a  pair  of  gloves 
were  produced,  not  perfect  in  fit,  but  quite 
respectable. 

Soberly  they  walked  out  into  the  street  and 
off  through  the  two-o'clock  stillness.  The 
mystified  burglar  was  losing  his  equanimity. 
He  could  not  understand  the  captor's  motive, 
nor  could  he  much  longer  curb  his  curiosity. 
In  his  mind  he  was  fully  satisfied  that  he  was 
walking  straight  to  the  portals  of  the  nearest 
station.  In  all  his  career  as  a  housebreaker, 
he  had  never  before  been  caught,  and  now  to 
be  captured  in  such  a  way  and  treated  in  such 
a  way  was  far  past  comprehension.  Ten  min- 
utes before  he  was  looking  at  a  stalwart  figure 
with  a  leveled  revolver,  confidently  expecting 
to  drop  with  the  bullet  in  his  body  from  an 
agitated  weapon.  Indeed,  he  encountered 
conditions  so  strange  that  he  felt  a  doubt  of 
their  reality.  He  had,  for  some  peculiar  and 
amazing  reason,  no  desire  to  escape.  There 
was  something  in  the  oddness  of  the  proceed- 
ing that  made  him  wish  to  see  it  to  an  end. 
Besides,  he  was  quite  sure  the  strapping  young 
fellow  would  shoot  if  he  attempted  to  bolt. 


THE  TAKING  OF  TURK  5 

"This  is  a  fairly  good  eating  house,"  ob- 
served the  would-be  victim  as  they  came  to  an 
"all-nighter."  They  entered  and  deliberately 
removed  their  coats,  the  thief  watching  his 
host  with  shifty,  even  twinkling  eyes.  "What 
shall  it  be,  Mr.  Robber?  You  are  hungry,  and 
you  may  order  the  entire  bill,  from  soup  to  the 
date  line,  if  you  like.      Pitch  in." 

"Say,  boss,  what's  your  game?"  demanded 
the  crook,  suddenly.  His  sharp,  pinched  face, 
with  its  week's  growth  of  beard,  wore  a  new 
expression — that  of  admiration.  "I  ain't  such 
a  rube  that  I  don't  like  a  good  t'ing  even  w'en 
it  ain't  comin'  my  way.  You'se  a  dandy,  dat's 
right,  an'  I  t'ink  we'd  do  well  in  de  business 
togedder.     Put  me  nex'  to  yer  game." 

"Game?  The  bill  of  fare  tells  you  all  about 
that.  Here's  quail,  squab,  duck — see?  That's 
the  only  game  I'm  interested  in.  Go  on,  and 
order." 

"S'  'elp  me  Gawd  if  you  ain't  a  peach." 

F"or  half  an  hour  Mr.  Burglar  ate  ravenously, 
Quentin  watching  him  through  half-closed, 
amused  eyes.  He  had  had  a  dull,  monotonous 
week,  and  this  was  the  novelty  that  lifted  life 
out  of  the  torpidity  into  which  it  had  fallen. 

The  host  at  this  queer  feast  was  at  that  time 
little    more  than  twenty-five  years  of    age,   a 


6  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

jrear  out  of  Yale,  and  just  back  from  a  second 
tour  of  South  America.  He  was  an  orphan, 
coming  into  a  big  fortune  with  his  majority, 
and  he  had  satiated  an  old  desire  to  travel 
in  lands  not  visited  by  all  the  world.  Now 
he  was  back  in  New  York  to  look  after  the 
investments  his  guardian  had  made,  and  he 
found  them  so  ridiculously  satisfactory  that 
they  cast  a  shadow  of  dullness  across  his  mind, 
always  hungry  for  activity. 

"Have  you  a  place  to  sleep?"  he  asked,  at 
length. 

"I  live  in  Jersey  City,  but  I  suppose  I  can 
find  a  cheap  lodgin'  house  down  by  d'  river. 
Trouble  is,  I  ain't  got  d'  price." 

"Then  come  back  home  with  me.  You  may 
sleep  in  Jackson's  room.  Jackson  was  my  man 
till  yesterday,  when  1  dismissed  him  for  steal- 
ing my  cigars  and  drinking  my  drinks.  I  won' t 
have  anybody  about  me  who  steals.  Come 
along." 

Then  they  walked  swiftly  back  to  Quentin's 
flat.  The  owner  of  the  apartment  directed  his 
puzzled  guest  to  a  small  room  off  his  own,  and 
told  him  to  go  to  bed. 

"By  the  way,  what's  your  name?"  he  asked, 
before  he  closed  the  door. 

"Turkington — James    Turkington,    sir,"   an- 


THE  TAKING  OF  TURK  7 

stvered    the    now   respectful    robber.     And   he 
wanted  to  say  more,  but  the  other  interrupted. 

"Well,  Turk,  when  you  get  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, polish  those  shoes  of  mine  over  there. 
We'll  talk  it  over  after  I've  had  my  breakfast. 
Good-night." 

And  that  is  how  Turk,  most  faithful  and 
loyal  of  servants,  began  his  apparently  endless 
employment  with  Mr.  Philip  Quentin,  dabbler 
in  stocks,  bonds  and  hearts.  Whatever  his 
ugly  past  may  have  been,  whatever  his  future 
may  have  promised,  he  was  honest  to  a  painful 
degree  in  these  days  with  Quentin.  Quick- 
witted, fiery,  willful  and  as  ugly  as  a  little 
demon,  Turk  knew  no  law,  no  integrity  except 
that  which  benefitted  his  employer.  Beyond 
a  doubt,  if  Quentin  had  instructed  him  to 
butcher  a  score  of  men,  Turk  would  have  pro- 
ceeded to  do  so  and  without  argument.  But 
Quentin  instructed  him  to  be  honest,  law- 
abiding  and  cautious.  It  would  be  perfectly 
safe  to  guess  his  age  between  forty  and  sixty, 
but  it  would  not  be  wise  to  measure  his  strength 
by  the  size  of  his  body.  The  little  ex-burglar 
was  like  a  piece  of  steel. 


II 

SOME  RAIN  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES 

New  York  had  never  been  so  nasty  and  cold 
and  disagreeable.  For  three  weeks  it  had 
rained — a  steady,  chilling  drizzle.  Quentin 
stood  it  as  long  as  he  could,  but  the  weather  is 
a  large  factor  in  the  life  of  a  gentleman  of  lei- 
sure. He  couldn't  play  Squash  the  entire  time, 
and  Bridge  he  always  maintained  was  more  of 
a  profession  than  a  pastime.  So  it  was  that 
one  morning,  as  he  looked  out  at  the  sheets  of 
water  blowing  across  the  city,  his  mind  was 
made  up. 

"We'll  get  out  of  this,  Turk.  I've  had 
enough  of  it." 

"Where  do  we  go,  sir?"  calmly  asked  the 
servant. 

"Heaven  knows!  But  be  ready  to  start  to- 
morrow. We'll  go  somewhere  and  dodge  this 
blessed  downpour.     Call  me  a  cab." 

As  he  drove  to  the  club,  he  mentally  tossed 

coppers  as  to  his   destination.      People  were 

already  coming  back  from   Aiken  and    Palm 

Beach,  and  those  who  had  gone  to  the  country 

8 


SOME  RAIN  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES   9 

were  cooped  up  indoors  and  shivering  about 
the  fireplaces.  Where  could  he  go?  As  he 
entered  the  club  a  man  hailed  him  from  the 
front  room. 

"Quentin,  you're  just  the  man  I'm  looking 
for.     Come  in  here." 

It  was  the  Earl  of  Saxondale — familiarly 
"Lord  Bob" — an  old  chum  of  Quentin's. 
"My  missus  sent  me  with  an  invitation  for 
you,  and  I've  come  for  your  acceptance,"  said 
the  Englishman,  when  Quentin  had  joined 
him. 

"Come  home  with  us.  We're  sailing  on  the 
Lucania  to-morrow,  and  there  are  going  to  be 
some  doings  in  England  this  month  which  you 
mustn't  miss.  Dickey  Savage  is  coming,  and 
we  want  you." 

Quentin  looked  at  him  and  laughed.  Saxon- 
dale was  perfectly  serious.  "We're  going  to 
have  some  people  up  for  Goodwood,  and  later 
we  shall  have  a  house-boat  for  Henley.  So 
you'd  better  come.     It  won't  be  bad  sport." 

Quentin  started  to  thank  his  friend  and  de- 
cline. Then  he  remembered  that  he  wanted 
to  get  away — there  was  absolutely  nothing  to 
keep  him  at  home,  and,  besides,  he  liked  Lord 
Bob  and  his  American  wife. 

Fashionable  New  York  recalls  the  marriage 


10  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

of  the  Earl  of  Saxondale  and  Frances  Thornow 
when  the  '90' s  were  young,  and  everybody  said 
it  was  a  love  match.  To  be  sure,  she  was 
wealthy,  but  so  was  he.  She  had  declined 
offers  of  a  half-dozen  other  noblemen;  there- 
fore it  was  not  ambition  on  her  part.  He 
could  have  married  any  number  of  wealthier 
American  girls;  therefore  it  was  not  avarice 
on  his  part.  He  was  a  good-looking,  stalwart 
chap  with  a  very  fetching  drawl,  infinite  gen- 
tility, and  a  man  despite  his  monocle,  while  she 
was  beautiful,  witty  and  womanly;  therefore  it 
is  reasonable  to  suspect  that  it  must  have  been 
'ove  that  made  her  Lady  Saxondale. 

Lord  Bob  and  Lady  Frances  were  frequent 
visitors  to  New  York.  He  liked  New  York, 
and  New  Yorkers  liked  him.  His  wife  was 
enough  of  a  true  American  to  love  the  home 
of  her  forefathers.  "What  my  wife  likes  I 
seem  to  have  a  fondness  for,"  said  he,  com- 
placently. He  once  remarked  that  were  she  to 
fall  in  love  with  another  man  he  would  feel  in 
duty  bound  to  like  him. 

Saxondale  had  money  invested  in  American 
copper  mines,  and  his  wife  had  railroad  stocks. 
When  they  came  to  New  York,  once  or  twice  a 
year,  they  took  a  furnished  apartment,  enter- 
tained and  were  entertained  for  a  month  or  so, 


SOME  RAIN  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES  11 

rushed  their  luggage  back  to  the  steamer  and 
sailed  for  home,  perfectly  satisfied  with  them- 
selves and — the  markets. 

Quentin  looked  upon  Lord  Bob's  invitation 
as  a  sporting  proposition.  This  would  not  be 
the  first  time  he  had  taken  a  steamer  on 
twenty-four  hours'  notice.  The  one  question 
was  accommodation,  and  a  long  acquaintance 
with  the  agent  helped  him  to  get  passage 
where  others  would  have  failed. 

So  it  happened  that  the  next  morning  Turw 
was  unpacking  things  in  Mr.  Quentin's  cabin 
and  establishing  relations  with  the  bath 
steward. 


Ill 


PRINCE  UGO 

Several  days  out  from  New  York  found  the 
weather  fine  and  Lord  Saxondale's  party  enjoy- 
ing life  thoroughly.  Dickey  and  the  capricious 
Lady  Jane  were  bright  or  squally  with  charm- 
ing uncertainty.  Lady  Jane,  Lord  Bob's 
sister,  certainly  was  not  in  love  with  Mr.  Sav- 
age, and  he  was  too  indolent  to  give  his  side 
of  the  case  continuous  thought.  Dimly  he 
realized,  and  once  lugubriously  admitted,  that 
he  was  not  quite  heartwhole,  but  he  had  not 
reached  a  positive  understanding  with  himself. 

"How  do  they  steer  the  ship  at  night  when 
it  is  so  cloudy  they  can't  see  the  north  star?" 
she  asked,  as  they  leaned  over  the  rail  one 
afternoon.  Her  pretty  face  was  very  serious, 
and  there  was  a  philosophical  pucker  on  her 
brow. 

"With  a  rudder,"   he  answered,  laconically. 

"How  very  odd!"  she  said,  with  a  malicious 
gleam  in  her  eyes.  "You  are  as  wonderfully 
well-informed  concerning  the  sea  as  you  are 
12 


PRINCE  UGO  33 

on  all  other  subjects.     How  good  it  must  seem 
to  be  so  awfully  intelligent." 

"It  isn't  often  that  I  find  anyone  who  asks 
really  intelligent  questions,  you  know,  Lady 
Jane.  Your  profound  quest  for  knowledge 
forced  my  dormant  intellect  into  action,  and  I 
remembered  that  a  ship  invariably  has  a  rud- 
der or  something  like  that." 

"I  see  it  requires  the  weightiest  of  questions 
to  arouse  your  intellect."  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing the  stray  hairs  ruthlessly  across  her  face 
and  she  looked  very,  very  pretty. 

"Intellects  are  so  very  common  nowadays 
that  'most  anything  will  arouse  them.  Quen- 
tin  says  his  man  Turk  has  a  brain,  and  if  Turk 
has  a  brain  I  don't  see  how  the  rest  of  us  can 
escape.     I'd  like  to  be  a  porpoise." 

'What  an  ambition!     Why  not  a  whale  or  a 
shark?" 

"If  I  were  a  shark  yot'd  be  afraid  of  me, 
and  if  I  were  a  whale  I  col  i  not  begin  to  get 
into  your  heart." 

"That's  the  best  thing  you  ^  said  since  you 
were  seasick,"  she  said,  sweetly 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't  hear  wh  I  said  when 
I  was  seasick." 

"Oh!  I've  heard  brother  Bob  s.  things," 
loftily. 


14  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"But  nobody  can  say  things  quite  so  impress> 
ively  as  an  American." 

"Pooh!  You  boasting  Americans  think  you 
can  do  everything  better  than  others.  Now 
you  claim  that  you  can  swear  better.  I  won't 
listen  to  you,"  and  off  she  went  toward  the 
companionway,  Dickey  looked  mildly  sur- 
prised, but  did  not  follow.  Instead,  he  joined 
Lady  Saxondale  and  Quentin  in  a  stroll. 

Four  days  later  they  were  comfortably  estab- 
lished with  Saxondale  in  London.  That  night 
Quentin  met,  for  the  first  time,  the  reigning 
society  sensation.  Prince  Ugo  Ravorelli,  and 
his  countrymen.  Count  Sallaconi  and  the  Duke 
of  Laselli.  All  London  had  gone  mad  over 
the  prince. 

There  was  something  oddly  familiar  in  the 
face  and  voice  of  the  Italian.  Quentin  sat 
with  him  for  an  hour,  listening  with  puzzled 
ears  to  the  conversation  that  went  on  between 
him  and  Saxondale.  On  several  occasions  he 
detected  a  curious,  searching  look  in  the 
Italian's  dark  eyes,  and  was  convinced  that 
the  prince  also  had  the  impression  that  they 
had  met  before.  At  last  Quentin,  unable  to 
curb  his  curiosity,  expressed  his  doubt. 
Ravorelli's  gaze  was  penetrating  as  he  replied, 
but  it  was  perfectly  frank. 


PRINCE  UGO  15 

"I  have  the  feeling  that  your  face  is  not 
strange  to  me,  yet  I  cannot  recall  when  or 
where  I  have  seen  you.  Have  you  been  in 
Paris  of  late?"  he  asked,  his  English  almost 
perfect.  It  seemed  to  Quentin  that  there  was 
a  look  of  relief  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  there  was 
a  trace  of  satisfaction  in  the  long  breath  that 
followed  the  question. 

"No,"  he  replied;  "I  seem  in  some  way  to 
associate  you  with  Brazil  and  the  South 
American  cities.  Were  you  ever  in  Rio 
Janeiro?" 

"I  have  never  visited  either  of  the  Americas. 
We  are  doubtless  misled  by  a  strange  resem- 
blance to  persons  we  know  quite  well,  but  who 
do  not  come  to  mind." 

"But  isn't  it  rather  odd  that  we  should  have 
the  same  feeling?  And  you  have  not  been  in 
New  York?"  persisted  Phil. 

"I  have  not  been  in  America  at  all,  you 
must  remember,"  replied  the  prince,  coldly. 

"I'd  stake  my  soul  on  it,"  thought  Quentin 
to  himself,  more  fully  convinced  than  ever. 
"I've  seen  him  before  and  more  than  once,  too. 
He  remembers  me,  even  though  I  can't  place 
him.  It's  devilish  aggravating,  but  his  face  is 
as  familiar  as  if  I  saw  him  yesterday." 

When  they  parted  for  the  night  Ravorelli's 


16  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

glance  again  impressed  the  American  with  a 
certainty  that  he,  at  least,  was  not  in  doubt  as 
to  where  and  when  they  had  met. 

"You  are  trying  to  recall  where  we  have  seen 
one  another,"  said  the  prince,  smiling  easily, 
his  white  teeth  showing  clearly  between 
smooth  lips.  "My  cousin  visited  America 
some  years  ago,  and  there  is  a  strong  family 
resemblance.  Possibly  you  have  our  faces 
confused." 

"That  may  be  the  solution,"  admitted  Phil, 
but  he  was  by  no  means  satisfied  by  the  hypoth- 
esis. 

In  the  cab,  later  on.  Lord  Bob  was  startled 
from  a  bit  of  doze  by  hearing  his  thoughtful, 
abstracted  companion  exclaim: 

"By  thunder!" 

"What's  up?  Forgot  your  hat,  or  left  some- 
thing at  the  club?"  he  demanded,  sleepily. 

"No;  I  remember  something,  that's  all. 
Bob,  I  know  where  I've  seen  that  Italian 
prince.  He  was  in  Rio  Janeiro  with  a  big 
Italian  opera  company  just  before  I  left  there 
for  New  York." 

"What!  But  he  said  he'd  never  been  in 
America,"  exclaimed  Saxondale,  wide  awake. 

"Well,  he  lied,  that's  all.  I  am  positive 
he's  the  man,  and  the  best  proof  in  the  world 


PRINCE  UGO  17 

is  the  certainty  that  he  remembers  me.  Of 
course  he  denies  it,  but  you  know  what  he  said 
when  I  first  asked  him  if  we  had  met.  He  was 
the  tenor  in  Pagani's  opera  company,  and  he 
sang  in  several  of  the  big  South  American 
cities.  They  were  in  Rio  Janeiro  for  weeks, 
and  we  lived  in  the  same  hotel.  There's  no 
mistake  about  it,  old  man.  This  howling  swell 
of  to-day  was  Pagani's  tenor,  and  he  was  a 
good  one,  too.  Gad,  what  a  Romeo  he  was! 
Imagine  him  in  the  part.  Bob.  Lord,  how  the 
women  raved  about  him!" 

"I  say,  Phil,  don't  be  ass  enough  to  tell  any- 
body else  about  this,  even  if  you're  cocksure 
he's  the  man.  He  was  doubtless  driven  to  the 
stage  for  financial  reasons,  you  know,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  quite  right  to  bring  it  up  now  if 
he  has  a  desire  to  suppress  the  truth.  Since 
he  has  come  into  the  title  and  estates  it  might 
be  deuced  awkward  to  have  that  sort  of  a  past 
raked  up." 

"I  should  say  it  would  be  awkward  if  that 
part  of  his  past  were  raked  up.  He  wasn't  a 
Puritan,  Bob." 

"They  are  a  bit  scarce  at  best." 

"He  was  known  in  those  days  as  Giovanni 
Pavesi,  and  he  wasn't  in  such  dire  financial 
straits,  either.     It  was  his  money  that  backed 


18  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

the  enterprise,  and  it  was  common  propert/, 
undenied  by  him  or  anyone  else,  that  the  chief 
object  in  the  speculation  was  the  love  of  the 
prima  donna,  Carmenita  Malban.  And,  Bob, 
she  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw. 
The  story  was  that  she  was  a  countess  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort.  Poverty  forced  her  to  make 
use  of  a  glorious  voice,  and  the  devil  sent 
Pagani  to  young  Pavesi,  who  was  then  a  stu- 
dent with  some  ripping  big  master,  in  the  hope 
that  he  would  interest  the  young  man  in  a 
scheme  to  tour  South  America.  It  seems  that 
Signorita  Malban's  beauty  set  his  heart  on  fire, 
and  he  promptly  produced  the  coin  to  back  the 
enterprise,  the  only  condition  being  that  he 
was  to  sing  the  tenor  roles.  All  this  came  out 
in  the  trial,  you  know." 
^  "The  trial!     What  trial?" 

"Giovanni's.  Let  me  think  a  minute.  She 
was  killed  on  the  29th  of  March,  and  he  was 
not  arrested  until  they  had  virtually  convicted 
one  of  the  chorus  men  of  the  murder.  Pagani 
and  Pavesi  quarrelled,  and  the  former  openly 
accused  his  'angel'  of  the  crime.  This  led  to 
an  arrest  just  as  the  tenor  was  getting  away  on 
a  ship  bound  for  Spain." 

"Arrested  him  for  the  murder  of  the  woman? 
Qn   my    life,    Quentin,   you  make   a    serious 


PRINCE  UGO  19 

blunder  unless  you  can  prove  all  this.  When 
did  it  all  happen?" 

"Two  years  ago.  Oh,  I'm  not  mistaken 
about  it;  it  is  as  clear  as  sunlight  to  me  now. 
They  took  him  back  and  tried  him.  Members 
of  the  troupe  swore  he  had  threatened  on 
numerous  occasions  to  kill  her  if  she  con- 
tinued to  repulse  him.  On  the  night  of  the 
murder — it  was  after  the  opera — he  was  heard 
to  threaten  her.  She  defied  him,  and  one  of 
the  women  in  the  company  testified  that  he 
sought  to  intimidate  Malban  by  'placmg  the 
point  of  his  stiletto  against  he  »h*'  i  neck. 
But,  in  spite  of  all  this,  he  was  acquiited.  I 
was  in  New  York  when  the  trial  ended,  but  I 
read  of  the  verdict  in  the  press  dispatches. 
Some  one  killed  her,  that  is  certain,  and  the 
nasty  job  was  done  in  her  room  at  the  hotel. 
I  heard  some  of  the  evidence,  and  I'll  say  that 
I  believed  he  was  the  guilty  man,  but  I  con- 
sidered him  insane  when  he  committed  the 
crime.  He  loved  her  to  the  point  of  madness, 
and  she  would  not  yield  to  his  passion.  It 
was  shown  that  she  loved  the  chorus  singer 
who  was  first  charged  with  her  murder." 

"Ravorelli  doesn't  look  like  a  murderer," 
said  Lord  Bob,  stoutly. 

"But  he  remembers  seeing  me  in  that  court- 
^-oom,  Bob." 


IV 

AND  THE  GIRL,  TOO 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  our  Italian  friend," 
said  Quentin  next  morning  to  Lady  Frances, 
who  had  not  lost  her  frank  Americanism  when 
she  married  Lord  Bob,  The  handsome  face  of 
the  young  prince  had  been  in  his  thoughts  the 
night  before  until  sleep  came,  and  then  there 
were  dreams  in  which  the  same  face  appeared 
vaguely  sinister  and  foreboding.  He  had  acted 
on  the  advice  of  Lord  Bob  and  had  said  noth- 
ing of  the  Brazilian  experiences. 

"Prince  Ugo?  I  supposed  that  every  news- 
paper in  New  York  had  been  devoting  columns 
to  him.  He  is  to  marry  an  American  heiress, 
and  some  of  the  London  journals  say  she  is  so 
rich  that  everybody  else  looks  poor  beside 
her." 

"Lucky  dog,  eh?  Everybody  admires  him, 
too,  it  seems.     Do  you  know  him,  Frances?" 

"I've  met  him  a  number  of  times  on  the 
continent,  but  not  often  in  London.  He  is  sel- 
dom here,  you  know  Really,  he  is  quite  a 
charming  fellow." 

20 


AND  THE  GIRL,   TOO  21 

"Yes,"  laconically.  "Are  Italian  princes  as 
cheap  as  they  used  to  be?  Mary  Carrolton  got 
that  nasty  little  one  of  hers  for  two  hundred 
thousand,  didn't  she?  This  one  looks  as  though 
he  might  come  a  little  higher.  He's  good- 
looking  enough." 

"Oh,  Ugo  is  not  like  the  Carrolton  invest- 
ment. You  see,  this  one  is  vastly  rich,  and 
he's  no  end  of  a  swell  in  sunny  Italy.  Really, 
the  match  is  the  best  an  American  girl  has 
made  over  here  in — oh,  in  centuries,  I  may 
say." 

"Pocahontas  made  a  fairly  decent  one,  I 
believe,  and  so  did  Frances  Thornow;  but,  to 
my  limited  knowledge,  I  think  they  are  the 
only  satisfactory  matches  that  have  been  pulled 
off  in  the  last  few  centuries.  Strange,  they 
both  married  Englishmen." 

"Thank  you.  You  don't  like  Italian  princes, 
then?" 

"Oh,  if  I  could  buy  a  steady,  well-broken, 
tractable  one,  I'd  take  him  as  an',  investment, 
perhaps,  but  I  believe,  on  the  whole,  I'd  rather 
put  the  money  into  a  general  menagerie  like 
Barnum's  or  Forepaugh's.  You  get  such  a 
variety  of  beasts  that  way,  you  know." 

"Come,  now,  Phil,  your  sarcasm  is  unjust. 
Prince  Ugo  is  very  much  of  a  gentleman,  and 


22  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

Bob  says  he  is  very  clever,  too.  Did  you  see 
much  of  him  last  night?" 

"I  saw  him  at  the  club  and  talked  a  bit  with 
him.  Then  I  saw  him  while  I  slept.  He  is 
much  better  in  the  club  than  he  is  in  a  dream." 

"You  dreamed  of  him  last  night?  He  cer- 
tainly made  an  impression,  then,"  she  said. 

"I  dreamed  I  saw  him  abusing  a  harmless, 
overworked  and  underfed  little  monkey  on  the 
streets  of  New  York." 

"How  absurd!" 

"The  monkey  wouldn't  climb  up  to  the  win- 
dow of  m)''  apartment  to  collect  nickels  for  the 
vilest  hand-organ  music  a  man  ever  heard,  even 
in  a  nightmare." 

"Phil  Quentin,  you  are  manufacturing  that 
dream  as  you  sit  here.  Wait  till  you  know 
him  better  and  you  will  like  him." 

"His  friends,  too?  One  of  those  chaps  looks 
as  if  he  might  throw  a  bomb  with  beautiful 
accuracy — the  Laselli  duke,  I  think.  Come, 
now,  Frances,  you'll  admit  he's  an  ugly  brute, 
won't  you?" 

"Yes,  you  are  quite  right,  and  I  can't  say 
that  the  count  impresses  me  more  favorably.*' 

"I'll  stake  my  head  the  duke's  ancestors 
were  brigands  or  something  equally  appalling. 
A  couple  of  poor,  foolish  American  girls  wi'l 


AND  THE  GIRL,   TOO  28 

elevate  them  both  to  the  position  of  money- 
spenders-in-chief  though,  1  presume,  and  the 
newspapers  will  sizzle." 

At  dinner  that  evening  the  discussion  was 
resumed,  all  those  at  the  table  taking  part. 
The  tall  young  American  was  plainly  preju- 
diced against  the  Italian,  but  his  stand  was  a 
mystery  to  all  save  Lord  Bob.  Dickey  Savage 
was  laboriously  non-committal  until  Lady  Jane 
took  sides  unequivocally  u^th  Quentin.  Then 
he  vigorously  defended  the  unlucky  prince. 
Lady  Saxondale  and  Sir  James  Graham,  one  of 
the  guests,  took  pains  to  place  the  Italian  in 
the  best  light  possible  before  the  critical 
American. 

"I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you,  Phil,"  suddenly 
cried  Lady  Saxondale,  her  pretty  face  beaming 
with  excitement.  "The  girl  he  is  to  marry  is 
an  old  flame  of  j^ours." 

"Quite  impossible,  Lady  Frances.  I  never 
had  a  flame." 

"But  she  was,  I'm  sure." 

"Are  you  a  theosophist?"  asked  Phil,  gaily, 
but  he  listened  nevertheless.  Who  could  she 
be?  It  seemed  for  the  moment,  as  his  mind 
swept  backward,  that  he  had  possessed  a  hun- 
dred sweethearts.  "I've  had  no  sweetheart 
since  I  began  existence  in  the  present  form." 


24  CA  5TLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

"Good  Lord!"  ejaculated  Dickey,  solemnly 
and  impressively. 

"I'll  bet  my  soul  Frances  is  right,"  drawled 
Lord  Bob.  "She  always  is,  you  know.  My 
boy,  if  she  says  you  had  a  sweetheart,  you 
either  had  one  or  somebody  owes  you  one. 
You've  never  collected,  perhaps." 

"If  he  collected  them  he'd  have  a  harem," 
observed  Mr.  Savage,  sagely.  "He's  had  so 
many  he  can't  count  'em." 

"I  should  think  it  disgusting  to  count  them, 
Mr.  Savage,  even  if  he  could,"  said  Lady 
Jane,  severely. 

"I  can  count  mine  backwards,"  he  said. 

"Beginning  at  one?" 

"Yes,  Lady  Jane;  one  in  my  teens,  none  at 
present.     No  task,  at  all,  to  count  mine." 

"Won't  you  give  me  the  name  of  that  old 
sweetheart  of  mine,  Lady  Saxondale?  Whom  is 
the  prince  to  marry?"  asked  Quentin. 

"Dorothy  Garrison.  She  lived  in  your  block 
seven  or  eight  years  ago,  up  to  the  time  she 
went  to  Brussels  with  her  mother.  Now,  do 
you  remember?" 

"You  don't  mean'jt!  Little  Dorothy?  By 
George,  she  was  a  pretty  girl,  too.  Of  course, 
I  remember  her.  But  that  was  ages  ago. 
She  was  fourteen  and  I  was  nineteen.     You  arc 


AND  THE  GIRL,   TOO  25 

right,  Lady  Saxondale.  I'll  confess  to  having 
regarded  her  as  the  fairest  creature  the  sun 
ever  shone  upon.  For  six  solid,  delicious 
months  she  was  the  foundation  of  every 
thought  that  touched  my  brain.  And  then — 
well,  what  happened  then?  Oh,  yes;  we 
quarrelled  and  forgot  each  other.  So  she's  the 
girl  who's  to  marry  the  prince,  is  she?"  Quen- 
tin's  face  was  serious  for  the  moment;  a  far-off 
look  of  real  concern  came  into  his  eyes.  He 
was  recalling  a  sweet,  dainty  face,  a  girlish 
figure,  and  the  days  gone  by. 

"How  odd  I  did  not  think  of  it  before. 
Really,  you  two  were  dreadful  spoons  in  those 
days.  Mamma  used  to  worry  for  fear  you'd 
carry  out  your  threat  to  run  away  with  her. 
And  now  she's  to  be  a  real  live  princess." 
Lady  Frances  created  a  profound  sensation 
when  she  resurrected  Quentin's  boyhood  love 
affair  with  the  one  American  girl  that  all 
Europe  talked  about  at  that  moment.  Lord 
Bob  was  excited,  perhaps  for  the  first  time 
since  he  proposed  to  Frances  Thornow. 

"By  Jove,  old  man,  this  is  rare,  devilish 
rare.  No  wonder  you  have  such  a  deuced 
antipathy  to  the  prince.  Intuition  must  have 
told  you  that  he  was  to  marry  one  of  the  ladies 
of  your  past." 


26  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Why,  Bob,  we  were  children,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  it.  Truly,  I  had  forgotten  that 
pretty  child — that's  all  she  was— and  I'll  war- 
rant she  wouldn't  remember  my  name  if  some 
one  spoke  it  in  her  presence.  Every  boy  and 
girl  has  had  that  sort  of  an  affair." 

"She's  the  most  beautiful  creature  I  ever 
saw,"  cried  Lady  Jane,  ecstatically.  Dickey 
Savage  looked  sharply  at  her  vivacious  face. 
"When  did  you  last  see  her,  Mr.  Quentin?" 

"I  can't  recall,  but  I  know  it  was  when  her 
hair  hung  down  her  back.  She  left  New  York 
before  she  was  fifteen,  I'm  quite  sure.  I  think 
I  was  in  love  with  a  young  widow  fourteen  years 
my  senior,  at  the  time,  and  did  not  pay  much 
heed  to  Dorothy's  departure.  She  and  her 
mother  have  been  traveling  since  then?" 

"They  traveled  for  three  years  before  Mrs. 
Garrison  could  make  up  her  mind  to  settle 
down  in  Brussels.  I  believe  she  said  it  re- 
minded her  of  Paris,  only  it  was  a  little  more 
so,"  said  Lord  Bob.  "We  met  them  in  Paris 
five  years  ago,  on  our  wedding  trip,  and  she 
was  undecided  until  I  told  her  she  might  take 
a  house  near  the  king's  palace  in  Brussels,  such 
as  it  is,  and  off  she  flew  to  be  as  close  to  the 
crown  as  possible.  She  struck  me  as  a  gory 
old  party  who  couldn't  live  comfortably  unless 


AND  THE  GIRL,   TOO  27 

she  were  dabbling  in  blue  blood.  The  girl  was 
charming,  though." 

"She's  in  London  now,"  ventured  Sir  James. 
"The  papers  say  she  came  especially  to  see  the 
boat  races,  but  there  is  a  pretty  well  estab- 
lished belief  that  she  came  because  the  prince 
is  here.  Despite  their  millions,  I  understand 
it  is  a  love  match." 

"I  hope  I  may  have  a  look  at  her  while  I'm 
here,  just  to  see  what  time  has  done  for  her," 
said  Quentin. 

"You  may  have  the  chance  to  ask  if  she 
remembers  you,"  said  Dickey. 

"And  if  she  thinks  you've  grown  older," 
added  Lord  Bob. 

"Will  you  tell  her  you  are  not  married?" 
demanded  Lady  Jane. 

"I'll  do  but  one  thing,  judging  from  the  way 
you  describe  the  goddess.  Just  stand  with 
open  mouth  and  marvel  at  her  magnificence. 
Somewhere  among  my  traps  I  have  a  picture  of 
her  when  she  was  fourteen,  taken  with  me  one 
afternoon  at  a  tin-typer's.  If  I  can  find  it,  I'll 
show  it  to  her,  just  to  prove  that  we  both 
lived  ten  years  ago.  She's  doubtless  lived  so 
much  since  I  saw  her  last  that  she'll  deny  an 
existence  so  far  back  as  that." 

"You  won't  be  so  deuced  sarcastic  when  you 


28  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

see  her,  even  if  she  is  to  marry  a  prince.  I 
tell  you,  Phil,  she  is  something  worth  looking 
at  forever,"  said  Lord  Bob. 

"I  never  saw  such  eyes,  such  a  complex- 
ion, such  hair,  such  a  carriage,"  cried  Lady 
Frances. 

"Has  she  any  teeth?"  asked  Dickey,  and  was 
properly  frowned  upon  by  Lady  Jane. 

"You  describe  her  as  completely  in  that 
sentence.  Lady  Frances,  as  a  novelist  could  in 
eight  pages,"  said  Quentin. 

"No  novelist  could  describe  her,"  was  the 
answer. 

"It's  to  be  hoped  no  novelist  may  attempt 
it,"  said  Quentin.  "She  is  beautiful  beyond 
description,  she  will  be  a  princess,  and  she 
knew  me  when  I  didn't  know  enough  to  ap- 
preciate her.  Her  eyes  were  blue  in  the  old 
days,  and  her  hair  was  almost  black.  Colors 
still  obtain?  Then  we  have  her  description  in 
advance.     Now,  let's  go  on  with  the  romance." 


A  SUNDA  Y  ENCOUNTER 

It  was  a  sunny  Sunday  morning  and  the 
church  parade  was  popular.  Lady  Frances 
and  Quentin  were  walking  together  when 
Prince  Ugo  joined  them.  He  looked  hardly 
over  twenty-five,  his  wavy  black  hair  giving 
him  a  picturesque  look.  He  wore  no  beard, 
and  his  dark  skin  was  as  clear  as  a  girl's. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Quentin,  "Lady  Saxon- 
dale  tells  me  you  are  to  marry  a  former 
acquaintance  of  mine." 

"Miss  Garrison  is  an  acquaintance?"  cried 
the  prince,  lifting  his  dark  eyes.  An  instant 
later  his  gaze  roamed  away  into  the  horde  of 
passing  women,  as  if  searching  for  the  woman 
whose  name  brought  light  to  his  soul. 

"Was  an  acquaintance,  I  think  I  said.  I 
doubt  if  she  remembers  me  now.  She  was  a 
child  when  I  knew  her.  Is  she  here  this  morn- 
ing?" asked  Phil,  secretly  amused  by  the  anx- 
ious look  in  the  Italian's  eyes. 

"She  will  be  with  Lady  Marnham,  Ah,  I 
29 


30  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

see  them  now."  The  young  prince  was  looking 
eagerly  ahead. 

Quentin  saw  Miss  Garrison  and  gasped  with 
astonishment.  Could  that  stunning  young 
woman  be  the  little  Dorothy  of  New  York 
days?  He  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes  and 
ears,  notwithstanding  the  introductions  which 
followed. 

"And  here  is  an  old  New  York  friend.  Miss 
Garrison,  Mr.  Philip  Quentin.  You  surely 
remember  him.  Miss  Garrison,"  said  Lady 
Frances,  with  a  peculiar  gleam  in  her  eye. 
For  a  second  the  young  lady  at  Quentin's  side 
exhibited  surprise;  a  faint  flush  swept  into  her 
cheek,  and  then,  with  a  rare  smile,  she  ex- 
tended her  hand  to  the  American. 

"Of  course,  I  remember  him.  Phil  and  I 
were  playmates  in  the  old  days.  Dear  me,  it 
seems  a  century  ago,"  she  said. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  well  the  century  has 
treated  you,"  he  said,  gallantly.  "It  has  not 
been  so  kind  to  me." 

"Years  are  never  unkind  to  men,"  she  re- 
sponded. She  smiled  upon  the  adoring  prince 
and  turned  again  to  Quentin.  "Tell  me  about 
New  York,  Phil.     Tell  me  about  yourself.' 

"I  can  only  say  that  New  York  has  grown 
larger  and  better,  and  that  I  have  grown  older 


A  SUNDAY  ENCOUNTER  31 

and  worse.  Mrs.  Garrison  may  doubt  that  ] 
could  possibly  grow  worse,  but  I  have  proof 
positive.     I  am  dabbling  in  Wall  street." 

"I  can  imagine  nothing  more  reprehensible," 
said  Mrs.  Garrison,  amiably.  Quentin  swiftly 
renewed  his  opinion  of  the  mother.  That 
estimate  coincided  with  the  impression  his 
youth  had  formed,  and  it  was  not  far  in  the 
wrong.  Here  was  the  mother  with  a  hope 
loftier  than  a  soul.  Purse-proud,  ambitious, 
condescending  to  a  degree — a  woman  who 
would  achieve  what  she  set  out  to  do  at  all 
hazards.  Less  than  fifty,  still  handsome, 
haughty  and  arrogant,  descended  through  a 
long  line  of  American  aristocracy,  calm,  re 
sourceful,  heartless.  For  fifteen  years  a 
widow,  with  no  other  object  than  to  live  at  the 
top  and  to  marry  her  only  child  into  a  realm 
far  beyond  the  dreams  of  other  American 
mothers.  Millions  had  she  to  flaunt  in  the 
faces  of  an  astonished,  marveling  people. 
Clever,  tactful,  aggressive,  capable  of  winning 
where  others  had  failed,  this  American  mother 
was  respected,  even  admired,  in  the  class  to 
which  she  had  climbed.  Here  was  the  womaa 
who  had  won  her  way  into  continental  society 
as  have  few  of  her  countrywomen.  To  none 
save  a  cold,  discerning  man  from  her  own  lane 


32  CAS TLE  CRA NE YCRO  W 

was  she  transparent.  Lord  Bob,  however,  had 
a  faint  conception  of  her  aims,  her  capacity. 

As  they  walked  on,  Ouentin  scarcely  took 
his  eyes  from  Miss  Garrison's  face.  He  was 
wearing  down  the  surprise  that  the  sweetheart 
of  his  boyhood  had  inspired,  by  deliberately 
seeking  flaws  in  her  beauty,  her  figure,  her 
manner.  After  a  time  he  felt  her  more  won- 
derful than  ever.  Lord  Bob  joined  the  party, 
and  Quentin  stopped  a  second  to  speak  to 
him.  As  he  did  so  Prince  Ugo  was  at  Miss 
Garrison's  side  in  an  instant. 

"So  she  is  the  girl  that  damned  Italian  is  to 
elevate?"  said  Mr.  Quentin  to  himself.  "By 
George,  it's  a  shame!"  He  did  not  see  Lord 
Bob  and  his  wife  exchange  a  quick  smile  of 
significance. 

As  they  all  reached  the  corner,  Quentin 
asked:  "Are  you  in  London  for  long,  Dorothy?" 
Lady  Frances  thought  his  tone  a  trifle  eager. 

"For  ten  days  or  so.  Will  you  come  to  see 
me?"  Their  eyes  met  and  he  felt  certain  that 
the  invitation  was  sincerely  given.  "Lady 
Marnham  is  having  some  people  in  to-morrow 
afternoon.  Perhaps  you'll  come  then,"  she 
added,  and  Phil  looked  crestfallen. 

"I'll  come,"  he  said.  "I  want  to  tell  you 
the  story  of  my  past  life.     You  didn't  know  I'd 


A  SUNDAY  ENCOUNTER  33 

been  prime  minister  of  a  South  American  re- 
public, did  you?" 

She  nodded  and  they  separated.  Prince  Ugo 
heard  the  last  words  of  the  American,  and  a 
small,  clear  line  appeared  for  an  instant 
between  his  black  eyebrows. 

Lady  Frances  solemnly  and  secretively  shook 
her  finger  at  Quentin,  and  he  laughed  with  the 
disdain  of  one  who  understands  and  denies 
without  the  use  of  words.  Lord  Bob  had 
wanted  to  kick  him  when  he  mentioned  South 
America,  but  he  said  nothing.  Quentin  was  in 
wonderful  spirits  all  the  way  home. 


VI 

DOROTHY  GARRISON 

Quentin  was  driving  with  Lady  Saxondale  to 
the  home  of  Miss  Garrison's  hostess.  Phil's 
fair,  calculating  companion  said  to  herself  that 
she  had  never  seen  a  handsomer  fellow  than 
this  stalwart  American.  There  was  about  him 
that  clean,  strong,  sweet  look  of  the  absolutely 
healthy  man,  the  man  who  has  buffeted  the 
world  and  not  been  buffeted  by  the  world.  He 
was  frank,  bright,  straightforward,  and  there 
was  that  always-to-be -feared  yet  ever-to-be- 
dcsired  gleam  of  mastery  in  his  eye.  It  may 
have  been  sometimes  a  wicked  mastery,  and 
more  than  one  woman  who  admired  him 
because  she  could  not  help  herself  had  said, 
"There  is  a  devil  in  his  eyes." 

They  found  Lady  Marnham's  reception  hall 
full  of  guests,  few  of  whom  Quentin  had  seen 
before.  He  was  relieved  to  find  that  the 
prince  was  not  present,  and  he  made  his  way 
to  Dorothy's  side,  with  Lady  Frances,  coolly 
dropping  into  the  chair  which  a. young  captain 
had  momentarily  abandoned.  Lady  Frances 
sat  beside  Miss  Garrison  on  the  divan. 
34, 


DOROTHY  GARRISON  35 

"I  am  so  glad  you  kept  your  promise,  Phil, 
and  came.  It  seems  good  to  see  you  after  all 
these  years.  You  bring  back  the  dear  days  at 
home,"  said  Dorothy,  delight  in  her  voice. 

"From  that  I  judge  you  sometimes  long  for 
them,"  he  said,  simply.  To  Lady  Frances  it 
sounded  daring. 

"Often,  oh,  so  very  often.  I  have  not  been 
in  New  York  for  years.  Lady  Saxondale  goes 
back  so  often  that  she  doesn't  have  the  chance 
to  grow  homesick." 

"I  hear  you  are  going  over  this  fall,"  said 
Quentin,  with  a  fair  show  of  interest. 

"Who — who  told  you  so?"  she  asked,  in 
some  surprise.     He  could  not  detect  confusion. 

"Prince  Ravorelli.  At  least,  he  said  he 
expected  to  make  the  trip  this  fall.  Am  I 
wrong  in  suspecting  that  he  is  not  going  alone?" 

"We  mean  to  spend  much  of  the  winter  in 
the  United  States,  chiefly  in  Florida.  I  shall 
depend  on  you,  Phil,  to  be  nice  to  him  in  New 
York.  You  can  do  so  much  to  make  it  pleas- 
ant for  him.  He  has  never  been  in  New  York, 
you  know." 

"It  may  depend  on  what  he  will  consider 
pleasant.  I  don't  believe  he  will  enjoy  all  the 
things  I  like.  But  I'll  try.  I'll  get  Dickey 
Savage  to  give  a  dinner  for  him,  and  if  he  can 


36  CA  STLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  IV 

survive  that,  he's  capable  of  having  a  good  time 
anywhere.  Dickey's  dinners  are  the  real  test, 
you  know.  Americans  stand  them  because 
they  are  rugged  and  accustomed  to  danger." 

"You  will  find  Prince  Ugo  rugged,"  she  said, 
flushing  slightly,  and  he  imagined  he  could 
distinguish  a  softness  in  her  tone. 

"I  am  told  he  is  an  athlete,  a  great  horse- 
man, a  marvelous  swordsman,"  said  Lady 
Frances. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  heard  something  about 
him  that  is  true,"  said  Dorothy,  a  trifle 
quickly.  "Usually  they  say  that  princes  are 
all  that  is  detestable  and  unmanly.  I  am  sure 
you  will  like  him,  Phil." 

Mrs.  Garrison  came  up  at  this  moment  with 
Lady  Marnham,  and  Quentin  arose  to  greet  the 
former  as  warmly  as  he  could  under  the  smooth 
veil  of  hypocrisy.  Again,  just  before  Lady 
Frances  signaled  to  him  that  it  was  time  for 
them  to  leave,  he  found  himself  in  conversa- 
tion, over  the  teacups,  with  Dorothy  Garrison. 
This  time  they  were  quite  alone. 

"It  doesn't  seem  possible  that  you  are  the 
same  Dorothy  Garrison  I  used  to  know,"  he 
said,  reflectively. 

"Have  I  changed  so  much?"  she  asked,  and 
there  was  in  her  manner  an  icy  barrier  that 


DOROTHY  GARRISON  37 

would  have  checked  a  less  confident  man  than 
Philip  Quentin. 

"In  everyway.  You  were  charming  in  those 
days." 

"And  not  charming  now,  I  infer." 

"You  are  more  than  charming  now.  That  is 
hardly  a  change,  however,  is  it?  Then,  you 
were  very  pretty,  now  you  are  beautiful. 
Then,  you  were " 

"1  don't  like  flattery,  Phil,"  she  said,  hurt 
by  what  she  felt  to  be  an  indifferent  effort  on 
his  part  to  please  her  vanity. 

"I  am  quite  sure  you  remember  me  well 
enough  to  know  that  I  never  said  nice  things 
unless  I  meant  them.  But,  now  that  I  think 
of  it,  it  is  the  height  of  impropriety  to  speak 
so  plainly  even  to  an  old  friend,  and  an  old — 
er — chum." 

"Won't  you  have  a  cup  of  tea?"  she  asked, 
as  calmly  as  if  he  were  the  merest  stranger  and 
had  never  seen  her  till  this  hour. 

"A  dozen,  if  it  pleases  you,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ingly, looking  straight  into  the  dark  eyes  she 
was  striving  so  hard  to  keep  cold  and  un- 
friendly. 

"Then  you  must  come  another  day,"  she 
answered,  brightly. 

"I  cannot  come  to-morrow,"  he  said. 


38  CAS TLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

"I  did  not  say  'to-morrow.'  " 

"But  I'll  come  on  Friday,"  he  went  on, 
decisively.  She  looked  concerned  for  an 
instant  and  then  smiled. 

"Lady  Marnham  will  give  you  tea  on  Fri- 
day.    I  shall  not  be  at  home,"  she  said. 

"But  I  am  going  back  to  New  York  next 
week,"  he  said,  confidently. 

"Next  week?     Are  you  so  busy?" 

"I  am  not  anxious  to  return,  but  my  man 
Turk  says  he  hates  London.  He  says  he'll 
leave  me  if  I  stay  here  a  month.  I  can't 
afford  to  lose  Turk." 

"And  he  can't  afford  to  lose  you.  Stay, 
Phil;  the  Saxondales  are  such  jolly  people." 

"How  about  the  tea  on  Friday?" 

"Oh,  that  is  no  consideration." 

"But  it  is,  you  know.  You  used  to  give  me 
tea  every  day  in  the  week."  He  saw  at  once 
that  he  had  gone  beyond  the  lines,  and  drew 
back  wisely.  "Let  me  come  on  Friday,  and 
we'll  have  a  good,  sensible  chat." 

"On  that  one  condition,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

"Thank  you.  Good-bye.  I  see  Lady  Fran- 
ces is  ready  to  go.  Evidently  I  have  monop- 
olized you  to  a  somewhat  thoughtless  extent. 
Everybody  is  looking  daggers  at  me,  including 
the  prince,  who  came  in  ten  minutes  ago." 


DOROTHY  GARRISON  39 

He  arose  and  held  her  hand  for  a  moment  at 
parting.  Her  swift,  abashed  glance  toward 
Prince  Ugo,  whose  presence  she  had  not 
observed,  did  not  escape  his  eyes.  She  looked 
up  and  saw  the  peculiar  smile  on  Ouentin's 
lips,  and  there  was  deep  meaning  in  her  next 
remark  to  him: 

"You  will  meet  the  prince  here  on  Friday. 
I  shall  ask  him  to  come  early,  that  he  may 
learn  to  know  you  better." 

"Thank  you.  I'd  like  to  know  him  better. 
At  what  hour  is  he  to  come?" 

"By  3:30,  at  least,"  she  said,  pointedly. 
"Too  early  to  be  correct,  you  suspect?" 

"I  think  not.  You  may  expect  me  before 
three.     I  am  not  a  stickler  for  form." 

"We  shall  not  serve  tea  until  four  o'clock," 
she  said,  coldly. 

"That's  my  hour  for  tea — just  my  hour,"  he 
said,  blithely.  She  could  not  repress  the  smile 
that  his  old  willfulness  brought  to  her  lips  and 
eyes.  "Thank  you,  for  the  smile.  It  was 
worth  struggling  for." 

He  was  gone  before  she  could  respond,  but 
the  smile  lingered  as  her  eyes  followed  his  tall 
figure  across  the  room.  She  saw  him  pause 
and  speak  to  Prince  Ugo,  and  then  pass  out 
with  Lady  Saxondale.     Only  Lady  Saxondale 


40  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

observed  the  dark  gleam  in  the  Italian's  eyes 
as  he  responded  to  the  big  American's  uncon- 
ventional greeting.  On  the  way  home  she 
found  herself  wondering  if  Dorothy  had  ever 
spoken  to  the  prince  of  Philip  Quentin  and 
those  tender,  foolish  days  of  girlhood. 

"Has  she  lost  any  of  the  charm?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  not  quite  sure.  I'm  to  find  out  on 
Friday." 

"Are  you  going  back  on  Friday?"  in  surprise. 

"To  drink  tea,  you  know." 

"Did  she  ask  you  to  come?" 

"Can't  remember,  but  I  think  I  suggested  it." 

"Be  careful,  Phil;  I  don't  want  you  to  turn 
Dorothy  Garrison's  head." 

"You  compliment  me  by  even  suspecting 
that  I  could.  Her  head  is  set;  it  can't  be 
turned.  It  is  set  for  that  beautiful,  bejewelled 
thing  they  call  a  coronet.  Besides,  I  don't 
want  to  turn  it." 

"I  think  the  prince  could  become  very 
jealous,"  she  went  on,  earnestly. 

"Which  would  mean  stilettos  for  two,  I 
presume."  After  a  moment's  contemplative 
silence  he  said:  "By  Jove!  she  is  beautiful, 
though." 

Quentin  was  always  the  man  to  rush  head- 
long into  the  very  thickest  of  whatever  won  his 


DOROTHY  GARRISON  41 

interest,  whether  it  was  the  tender  encounter 
of  the  drawing-room  or  the  dangerous  conflict 
of  the  field. 

When  he  left  Lady  Marnham's  house  late  on 
Friday  afternoon  he  was  more  delighted  than 
ever  with  the  girl  he  had  once  loved.  He  was 
with  her  for  nearly  an  hour  before  the  prince 
arrived,  and  he  had  boldly  dashed  into  the  (he 
called  them  ridiculous)  days  when  she  had 
been  his  little  sweetheart,  the  days  when  both 
had  sworn  with  young  fervor  to  be  true  till 
death.  She  did  not  take  kindly  at  first  to 
these  references  to  that  early,  mistaken  affec- 
tion, but  his  persistence  won.  Before  the 
prince  arrived,  the  American  had  learned  how 
she  met  him,  how  he  had  wooed  and  won,  and 
how  she  had  inspired  jealousy  in  his  hot 
Italian  heart  by  speaking  of  the  "big,  hand- 
some boy"  over  in  New  York. 

He  secured  her  permission  to  join  her  in  the 
Row  on  Tuesday.  There  was  resistance  on  her 
part  at  first,  but  he  laughed  it  off. 

"You  should  ask  me  to  your  wedding,"  he 
said,  as  the  prince  came  in. 

"But  you  will  not  be  here." 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  he  said,  calmly, 
and  then  smiled  into  her  puzzled  eyes.  "Brus- 
sels, isn't  it?" 


42  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Yes;    the  middle  of  September,"  she  said, 

dreamily. 

"You'll  ask  me  to  come?" 

"I  should  have  asked  you,  anyway." 

The  two  men  shook  hands.      "Sorry  I  can't 

stay  for  tea,    Dorothy,    but   I   promised   Lord 

Saxondale  I'd  meet  him  at  four  o'clock." 
He  did  a  genuinely  American  thing  as  he 

walked  up  the   street.     He  whistled   a   lively 

air. 


VII 

THE   WOMAN  FROM  PARTS 

For  two  weeks  Phil  Quentin  did  not  allow 
Dorothy  to  forget  the  old  association,  and 
then  came  the  day  of  her  departure  for  Paris. 
Mrs.  Garrison  was  by  no  means  reluctant  to 
leave  London, — not  that  she  disliked  the  place 
or  the  people,  but  that  one  Philip  Quentin  had 
unceremoniously,  even  gracefully,  stepped  into 
the  circle  of  her  contentment,  rudely  obliterat- 
ing its  symmetrical,  well-drawn  lines. 

Mr.  Quentin  had  much  to  overcome  if  he 
contemplated  an  assault  upon  the  icy  reserve 
with  which  Dorothy  Garrison's  mother  re- 
garded his  genial  advances.  She  recalled  the 
days  when  her  daughter  and  he  were  "silly, 
lovesick  children,"  and  there  was  not  much 
comfort  to  be  derived  from  the  knowledge  that 
he  had  grown  older  and  more  attractive,  and 
that  he  lost  no  opportunity  to  see  the  girl  who 
once  held  his  heart  in  leash.  The  mother  was 
too  diplomatic  to  express  open  displeasure  or 
to  offer  the  faintest  objection  to  this  renewal 
of  friendship.  If  it  were  known  that  she 
43 


44  CA  STLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

opposed  the  visits  of  the  handsome  American, 
all  London  would  wonder,  speculate,  and 
finally  understand.  Her  disapproval  could 
only  be  construed  as  an  acknowledgment  that 
she  feared  the  consequences  of  association;  it 
would  not  be  long  before  the  story  would  be 
afloat  that  all  was  not  smooth  in  the  love 
affairs  of  a  certain  prince,  and  that  the  fires  of 
an  old  affection  were  burning  brightl)^  and 
merrily  in  the  face  of  a  wrathful  parent's  op- 
position. 

In  secret,  Dorothy  herself  was  troubled  more 
than  she  cared  to  admit  by  the  reappearance  of 
one  who  could  not  but  awaken  memories  of 
other  days,  fondly  foolish  though  they  were. 
He  was  still  the  same  old  Phil,  grown  older 
and  handsomer,  and  he  brought  with  him  em- 
barrassing recollections.  He  was  nothing 
more  to  her  now  than  an  old-time  friend,  and 
she  was  nothing  to  him.  She  loved  Ugo 
Ravorelli,  and,  until  he  appeared  suddenly 
before  her  in  London,  Philip  Quentin  was 
dead  to  her  thoughts.  And  yet  she  felt  as  if 
she  were  playing  with  a  fire  that  would  leave 
its  scar — not  on  her  heart  or  Quentin's,  per- 
haps, but  on  that  of  the  man  .=he  was  to  marry. 

It  required  no  great  strength  of  vision  to  see 
that  Ravorelli  was  jealous,  and  it  was  just  as 


THE  WOMAN  FROM  PARIS  45 

plain  that  Quentin  saw  and  enjoyed  the  un- 
easiness he  was  causing.  She  could  not  know, 
of  course,  that  the  American  had  deliberately- 
planned  to  play  havoc  with  the  peace  and  com- 
fort of  her  lover,  for  she  recognized  no  motive. 
How  could  she  know  that  Giovanni  Pavesi,  the 
tenor,  and  Prince  Ravorelli  were  one  and  the 
same  to  Philip  Quentin?  How  could  she 
know  that  the  beautiful  Malban  was  slain  in 
Rio  Janeiro,  and  that  Philip  Quentin  had  seen 
a  handsome,  dark-eyed  youth  led  to  and  from 
the  murderer's  dock  in  that  far-away  Brazilian 
city?  How,  then,  could  she  understand  the 
conflict  that  waged  with  herself  as  the  battle- 
field? 

As  for  Quentin,  he  was  bound  by  no  law  or 
duty  to  respect  the  position  of  Prince  Ravo- 
relli. He  was  convinced  that  the  sometime 
Romeo  had  the  stain  of  blood  on  his  delicate 
hands  and  that  in  his  heart  he  concealed  the 
secret  of  Carmenita  Malban's  death.  In  his 
mind,  there  was  no  mistake.  Quentin's  com- 
posure was  shaken  but  once  in  the  fortnight  of 
pleasure  preceding  Dorothy's  departure  for 
Paris.  That  was  when  she  indignantly,  almost 
tearfully,  called  his  attention  to  the  squib  in  a 
London  society  journal  which  rather  daringly 
prophesied  a  "break  in  the  Ravorelli-Garrisori 


•46  Castle  craneycroW 

match,"  and  referred  plainly  to  the  renewal  of 
an  "across-the-Atlantic  affection."  When  he 
vvrathfully  promised  to  thrash  the  editor  of  the 
paper,  she  shocked  him  by  saying  that  he  had 
created  "enough  of  a  sensation,"  and  he  went 
home  with  the  dazed  feeling  of  one  who  has 
suffered  an  unexpected  blow. 

On  the  evening  before  the  Garrisons  crossed 
the  channel,  Lord  and  Lady  Saxondale  and 
-Philip  Ouentin  found  themselves  long  after 
midnight  in  talk  about  the  coming  marriage. 
Quentin  was  rather  silent.  His  thoughts 
seemed  far  from  the  room  in  which  he  sat,  and 
there  was  the  shadow  of  a  new  line  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth. 

"I  am  going  to  Brussels  next  week,"  he  said, 
deliberately.  The  others  stared  at  him  in 
amazement. 

"To  Brussels?  You  mean  New  York,"  said 
Lady  Frances,  faintly. 

"New  York  won't  see  me  for  some  time. 
I'm  going  to  make  a  tour  of  the  continent. 

"This  is  going  too  far,  old  man,"  cried  Lord 
Bob.  "You  can't  gain  anything  by  following" 
her,  and  you'll  only  raise  the  devil  of  a  row 
all  round.     Dash  it!  stay  in  London." 

"Thanks  for  the  invitation,  Bob,  but  I've 
always  had  a  desire  to  learn  something  about 


THE  WOMAN  FROM  PARIS  47 

the  miniature  Paris.  I  shall  spend  some  time 
in  Paris,  and  then  go  up  there  to  compare  the 
places.     Besides,  there  won't  be  any  row." 

"But  there  will  be,  Phil,"  cried  Lady  Saxon- 
dale.  "You  must  keep  out  of  this  affair. 
Why,  all  Europe  knows  of  the  wedding,  and 
even  now  the  continent  is  quietly  nursing  the 
gossip  of  the  past  two  weeks."  She  dropped 
into  a  chair,  perplexed  and  anxious. 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,  both  of  you. 
The  events  of  the  past  two  weeks  are  tame  in 
comparison  with  those  of  the  next  two 
months,"  said  Quentin,  a  new  light  in  his  eye. 
His  tall  figure  straightened  and  his  nostrils 
expanded. 

"Wha — what  do  you  mean?"  floundered  Lord 
Bob. 

"Just  this:  I  love  Dorothy  Garrison,  and  I'm 
going  to  marry  her." 

"Good  heavens!"  was  the  simultaneous  gasp 
of  Lord  and  Lady  Saxondale.  And  they  could 
not  dissuade  him.  Not  only  did  he  convince 
them  that  he  was  in  earnest,  but  before  he  left 
for  Paris  he  had  made  them  allies.  Ugo's 
experience  in  Rio  Janeiro  shocked  Lady 
Frances  so  seriously  that  she  became  a  cham- 
pion of  the  American's  cause  and  agreed  with 
Lord  Bob  that  Dorothy  should  not  be  sacri- 


4  8  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

ficed  if  it  were  in  their  power  to  prevent.  Of 
course  Dickey  Savage  approved  of  Quentin's 
campaign  and  effectually  disposed  of  Lady 
Jane's  faint  objections  by  saying: 

"America  for  the  Americans,  Brussels  for 
the  Americans,  England  for  the  Americans, 
everything  and  everybody  for  the  Americans, 
but  nothing  at  all  for  these  confounded  for- 
eigners. Let  the  Italian  marry  anybody  he 
pleases,  just  so  long  as  he  doesn't  interfere 
with  an  American.  Let  the  American  marry 
anybody  he  pleases,  and  to  perdition  with  all 
interference.  I'm  for  America  against  the 
world  in  love  or  in  war." 

"Don't  forget,  Mr.  Savage,  that  you  are  a 
foreigner  when  on  British  soil,"  remonstrated 
the  Lady  Jane,  vigorously. 

"My  dear  Lady  Jane,  an  American  is  at 
home  anywhere  in  this  world.  If  you  could 
see  some  of  the  foreigners  that  land  at  Castle 
Garden  you  wouldn't  blame  an  American  for 
absolutely,  irrevocably  and  eternally  refusing 
to  be  called  a  foreigner,  even  on  the  shores 
of  Madagascar.  We  are  willing  to  be  most 
anything,  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  we'll  be  for- 
eigners." 

A  week  later  Quentin  was  in  Paris.  Savage 
was  to  join  him  in  Brussels  about  the  middle 


THE   WOMAN  FROM  PARIS  49 

of  August,  and  Lord  and  Lady  Saxondale 
promised  faithfully  to  come  to  that  city  at  a 
moment's  notice.  He  went  blithely  away  with 
the  firm  conviction  in  his  heart  that  it  was  not 
to  be  a  fool's  errand.  But  he  was  reckoning 
without  the  woman  in  the  case. 

"If  you  do  marry  her,  Quentin,  I've  got  just 
the  place  for  you  to  live  in,  for  a  while  at 
least.  I  bought  an  old  castle  in  Luxemburg 
a  couple  of  years  ago,  just  because  the  man 
who  owned  it  was  a  friend  and  needed  a  few 
thousand  pounds.  Frances  calls  it  Castle  Cra- 
neycrow.  It's  a  romantic  place,  and  would 
be  a  great  deal  better  than  a  cottage  for  love. 
You  may  have  it  whenever  the  time  comes. 
Nobody  lives  there  now  but  the  caretaker 
and  a  lot  of  deuced  traditions.  We  can  dis- 
charge the  caretaker  and  you  can  make  fresh 
traditions.  Think  it  over,  my  boy,  while  you 
are  dispatching  the  prince,  the  mamma  and 
the  fair  victim's  ambition  to  become  a  real  live 
princess." 

"Don't  be  sarcastic.  Bob,"  exclaimed  Quen- 
tin. "I'll  not  need  your  castle.  We're  going 
to  live  in  the  clouds." 

"Beware  of  the  prince,"  said  Lady  Frances. 
"He  is  pretty  high  himself,  you  know." 

"Let  the  prince  beware,"   laughed  back  the 


50  CASTLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

departing  guest.      "We  can't  both  live  in  the 
same  cloud,  you  know.     I'll  push  him  off." 

On  the  day  Quentin  left  Paris  for  Brussels  he 
came  face  to  face  with  Prince  Ugo  on  one  of 
the  Parisian  boulevards.  The  handsome 
Italian  was  driving  with  Count  Sallaconi  and 
two  very  attractive  ladies.  That  the  meeting 
was  unexpected  and  undesired  was  made  mani- 
fest by  the  anxious  look  which  the  prince  shot 
over  his  shoulder  after  the  carriage  had  passed. 

When  Quentin  left  Paris  that  night  with 
Turk  and  his  luggage,  he  was  not  the  only  pas- 
senger bound  for  Brussels.  At  the  Gare  du 
Nord  two  men,  one  suspiciously  like  the 
Duke  Laselli,  took  a  compartment  in  the 
coach  just  ahead  of  Quentin.  The  train  was 
due  to  reach  Brussels  shortly  after  midnight, 
and  the  American  had  telegraphed  for  apart- 
ments at  the  Bellevue.  There  had  been  a  driz- 
zle of  rain  all  the  evening,  and  it  was  good  to 
be  inside  the  car,  even  if  the  seats  were  uncorn- 
fortable. 

Turk  and  his  master  were  the  only  passengers 
in  the  compartment.  The  watchful  eyes  of  the 
former  had  seen  several  persons,  men  and 
women,  pass  through  the  aisle  into  which  the 
section  opened.      One  woman  paused  at  the 


THE  WOMAN  FROM  PARIS  5i 

entrance  as  if  about  to  enter.  She  was  fair  to 
look  upon  and  Turk  gallantly  moved,  present- 
ing a  roomy  end  of  his  seat  to  her.  She  passed 
on,  however,  and  the  little  ex-burglar  glanced 
sharply  at  his  master  as  if  to  accuse  him  of 
frightening  the  fair  one  away.  But  Quentin 
was  lying  back,  half-asleep,  and  there  was 
nothing  repellent  about  the  untroubled  expres- 
sion on  his  face. 

Before  reaching  Le  Cateau  the  same  lady 
passed  the  entrance  and  again  glanced  inside. 
Turk  was  now  asleep,  but  his  master  was  star- 
ing dreamily  toward  the  aperture  leading  to 
the  aisle.  He  saw  the  woman's  face  for  an 
instant,  and  it  gradually  dawned  upon  him  that 
there  was  something  familiar  about  its  beauty. 
Where  had  he  seen  her  before?  Like  the 
curious  American  he  was,  he  arose  a  few  min- 
utes later  and  deliberately  walked  into  the 
aisle.  He  passed  two  compartments  before  he 
saw  the  young  woman.  She  was  alone  and  wag 
leaning  back,  her  eyes  closed.  Quentin 
observed  that  she  was  young  and  beautiful  and 
possessed  the  marks  of  fashion  and  refinement. 
As  he  stood  for  a  moment  looking  upon  the 
face  of  the  dozing  French  woman,  more  certain 
than  ever  that  he  had  seen  her  recently,  she 
opened  her  eyes  with  an  affrighted  start. 


52  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

He  instantly  and  in  some  embarrassment 
turned  to  escape  the  eyes  which  had  caught 
him  in  a  rare  bit  of  impertinence,  but  was  sur- 
prised to  hear  her  call  softly:j 

"Monsieur!" 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  pausing,  "can 
I  be  of  service  to  you?" 

"I  must  speak  with  you,  M.  Quentin.  Come 
inside.  I  shall  detain  you  but  a  moment,  and  it 
is  so  very  important  that  you  should  hear  me." 
She  was  now  sitting  upright,  visibly  excited 
and  confused,  but  very  much  in  earnest. 

"You  know  my  name,"  he  said,  entering 
and  dropping  to  the  seat  beside  her.  "Where 
have  we  met?  Your  face  is  familiar,  but  I  am 
ashamed  to  admit " 

"We  have  no  time  to  talk  of  that.  You 
have  never  met  me,  and  would  not  know  who  I 
am  if  I  told  you.  Had  it  not  been  for  that 
horrid  little  man  of  yours  I  should  have  boldly 
addressed  you  sooner.  I  must  leave  the  train 
at  Le  Cateau,  for  I  cannot  go  on  to  Quevy  or 
Mons.  It  would  not  be  wise  for  me  to  leave 
France  at  this  time.  You  do  not  know  me, 
but  I  wish  to  befriend  you." 

"Befriend  me?  I  am  sure  one  could  not  ask 
for  a  more  charming  friend,"  said  he,  smiling 
gallantly,  but  now  evincing  a  shade  of  interest. 


THE  WOMAN  FROM  PARIS  53 

"No  flattery,  Monsieur!  It  is  purely  a  per- 
sonal matter  with  me;  this  is  by  no  means  a 
pleasure  trip.  I  am  running  a  great  risk,  but 
it  is  for  my  own  sake  as  much  as  for  yours,  so 
do  not  thank  me.  I  came  from  Paris  on  this 
train  because  I  could  not  speak  to  you  at  the 
Gare  du  Nord.     You  were  watched  too  closely. ' ' 

"Watched?  What  do  you  mean?"  almost 
gasped  Quentin. 

"I  can  only  say  that  you  are  in  danger  and 
that  you  have  incurred  the  displeasure  of  a 
man  who  brooks  no  interference." 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  his  mind  in 
a  whirl.  The  thought  that  she  might  be  mad 
grew,  but  was  instantly  succeeded  by  another 
which  came  like  a  shock. 

"Is  this  man  of  noble  blood?" 

"Yes,"  she  almost  whispered,  turning  her 
eyes  away. 

"And  he  means  to  do  me  harm?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Because?" 

"Because  he  fears  your  power." 

"In  what  direction?" 

"You  know  without  asking,  M.  Quentin." 

"And  why  do  you  take  this  interest  in  me? 
I  am  nothing  to  you." 

"It   is  because  you   are    not   to   be   treated 


54  CA  S  TLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

fairly.  Listen.  On  this  train  are  two  men  who 
do  not  know  that  I  am  here,  and  who  would  be 
confounded  if  they  were  to  see  me.  They  are 
in  one  of  the  forward  coaches,  and  they  are 
emissaries  sent  on  to  watch  your  ev^ery  move- 
ment and  to  report  the  progress  of  your — your 
business  in  Brussels.  If  3''ou  become  too  ag- 
gressive before  the  man  who  employs  them  can 
arrange  to  come  to  Brussels,  you  are  to  be 
dealt  with  in  a  manner  effectual.  What  is  to 
be   done   with   you,  I   do  not   know,  but  I   am 

certain  you  are  in  great  danger  unless  you " 

She  paused,  and  a  queer  expression  came  into 
her  wide  eyes. 

"Unless  what?  You  interest  me." 
"Unless  you  withdraw  from  the  contest." 
"You  assume  that  there  is  a  contest  of  some 
r  -rt.  Well,  admitting  there  is  one,  I'll  say  that 
you  may  go  back  to  the  prince  and  tell  him  his 
scheme  doesn't  work.  This  story  of  yours — 
pardon  me,  Mademoiselle— is  a  clever  one,  and 
}'ou  have  clone  your  part  well,  but  I  am  not  in 
the  least  alarmed.  Kindly  return  to  the  man 
who  sent  you  and  ask  him  to  come  in  your 
stead  if  he  wants  to  frighten  me,  I  am  not 
afraid  of  women,  you  know." 

"You   wrong   me,    IMonsieur;    I   am    not   his 
agent.      I  am   acting   purely  on   my  own   re- 


THE  WOMAN  FROM  PARIS  55 

sponsibility,  for  myself  alone.  I  have  a  per- 
sonal object  in  warning  you,  but  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  Let  me  add  that  I  wish  you 
success  in  the  undertaking  which  now  interests 
you.  You  must  believe  me,  though,  when  I 
say  that  you  are  in  danger.  Forewarned  is 
forearmed.  I  do  not  know  what  steps  are  to 
be  taken  against  you;  time  will  expose  them. 
But  I  do  know  that  you  are  not  to  win  what 
you  seek." 

"This  is  a  very  strange  proceeding,"  began 
he,  half-convinced  of  her  sincerity. 

"VVe  are  nearing  Le  Cateau,  and  I  must 
leave  you.  The  men  of  whom  1  speak  are  the 
Duke  Laselli  and  a  detectiv^e  called  Courant. 
I  know  they  are  sent  to  watch  you,  and  they 
mean  you  no  good.  Be  careful,  for  God's 
sake,  Monsieur,  for  I — I — want  you  to  win!" 
She  was  standing  now,  and  with  trembling 
fingers  was  adjusting  a  thick  veil  over  her 
face. 

"Why  are  you  so  interested  in  me?"  he 
asked,  sharply.  "Why  do  you  want  me  to 
win — to  win,  well,  to  win  the  battle?" 

"Because "  she  began,  but  checked  her- 
self. A  deep  blush  spread  over  her  face  just 
as  she  dropped  the  veil. 

"The  cad!"  he  said,  understanding  coming 


56  CA  STLE  CRA  NE YCRO  W 

to  him  like  a  flash.  "There  is  mor'  than  one 
heart  at  stake." 

"Good-bye  and  good  luck,  Monsieur,"  she 
whispered.  He  held  her  hand  for  an  instant 
as  she  passed  him,  then  she  was  gone. 

Mile  after  mile  from  Le  Cateau  to  Quevy 
found  him  puzzling  over  the  odd  expeiience  of 
the  night.  Suddenly  he  started  and  mattered, 
half  aloud: 

"By  thunder,  I  remember  now!  It  vvas  she 
who  sat  beside  him  in  the  carriage  thif  "T-dxw- 
ingl" 


VIII 

rHE  FATE  OF  A  LETTER 

At  Quev)  the  customs  officers  went  through 
the  train,  and  Quentin  knew  that  he  was  in 
Belgium.  For  some  time  he  had  been  weigh- 
ing in  his  mind  the  advisability  of  searching  the 
train  for  a  jjlimpse  of  the  duke  and  his  com- 
panion, doubtful  as  to  the  sincerity  of  the  beau- 
tiful and  mys  terious  stranger.  It  was  not  until 
the  train  rea;hed  Mons  that  he  caught  sight 
of  the  duke.  He  had  started  out  deliberately 
at  last  to  huiit  for  the  Italian,  and  the  latter 
evidently  had  a  similar  design.  They  met  on 
the  platform  and,  though  it  was  quite  dark, 
each  recognii^d  the  other.  The  American  was 
on  the  point  of  addressing  the  duke  when  that 
gentleman  abruptly  turned  and  reentered  the 
train,  one  coach  ahead  of  that  occupied  by 
Quentin,  who  returned  to  his  compartment  and 
proceeded  to  Mvaken  the  snoring  man-servant. 
Without  reseive  he  confided  to  Turk  the  whole 
story  of  the  night  up  to  that  point. 

"I  don't  know  what  their  game  is,  Turk,  but 
we  must  not  be  caught  napping.  We  have  a 
57 


58  CA  STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

friend  in  the  pretty  woman  who  got  off  in  the 
rain  at  Le  Cateau.  She  loves  the  prince,  and 
that's  why  she's  with  us." 

"Say,  did  she  look  's  if  she  had  royal  blood 
in  her?  Mebby  she's  a  queen  er  somethin'  like 
that.  Blow  me,  if  a  feller  c'n  tell  w'at  sort  of 
a  swell  he's  goin'  up  ag'inst  over  here.  Dukes 
and  lords  are  as  common  as  cabbies  are  in 
New  York.  Anyhow,  this  duke  ain't  got  no 
bulge  on  us.  We're  nex'  to  him,  all  right,  all 
right.  Shall  I  crack  him  on  the  knot  when  we 
git  to  this  town  we're  goin'  to?  A  good  jolt 
would  put  him  out  o'  d'  business  fer  a 
spell " 

"Now,  look  here,  young  man;  don't  let  me 
hear  of  you  making  a  move  in  this  affair  till  I 
say  the  word.  You  are  to  keep  your  mouth 
closed  ;and  your  hands  behind  you.  What  I 
want  you  to  do  is  to  watch,  just  as  they  are 
doing.  Your  early  training  ought  to  stand  you 
well  in  hand  for  this  game.  I  believe  you  once 
said  you  had  eyes  in  the  back  of  your  head." 

"Eyes,  nothin'l  They  is  microscopes,  Mr. 
Quentin." 

Ouentin,  during  the  remainder  of  the  run  to 
Brussels,  turned  the  new  situation  over  and 
over  in  his  mind.  That  the  prince  was  ready 
to  acknowledge  him  as  a  dangerous  rival  gave 


THE  FA  TE  OF  A  LETTER  59 

him  much  satisfaction  and  inspired  the  hope 
that  Miss  Garrison  had  given  her  lover  some 
cause  for  alarm.  The  decisive  movement  on  the 
part  of  Prince  Ugo  to  forestall  any  advantage  lie 
might  acquire  while  near  her  in  Brussels  was  a 
surprise  and  something  of  a  shock  to  him. 
It  was  an  admission,  despite  his  position  and 
the  pledge  he  had  from  the  girl  herself,  that 
the  Italian  did  not  feel  secure  in  the  premises, 
and  was  willing  to  resort  to  trickery,  if  not 
villainy,  to  circumvent  the  American  who 
knew  him  in  other  days.  Phil  felt  positive 
that  the  move  against  him  was  the  result  of 
deliberate  intent,  else  how  should  his  fair 
friend  of  the  early  evening  know  that  a  plot 
was  brewing?  Unquestionably  she  had  heard 
or  learned  of  the  prince's  directions  to  the 
duke.  Her  own  interest  in  the  prince  was,  of 
course,  the  inspiration.  To  no  one  but  herself 
could  she  entrust  the  delivery  of  the  warning. 
Her  agitated  wish,  openly  expressed,  that 
Quentin  might  win  the  contest  had  a  much 
deeper  meaning  than  would  appear  on  the 
surface. 

From  the  moment  he  received  the  warning 
the  affair  began  to  take  on  a  new  aspect. 
Aside  from  the  primal  fact  that  he  was  desper- 
ately in  love  with  Dorothy  Garrison,  there  was 


CO  CA  STLE  CRA NEYCRO  W 

now  the  fresh  incentive  that  he  must  needs 
v/in  her  against  uncertain  odds  and  in  the  face 
of  surprising  opposition.  In  this  day  and  age 
of  the  world,  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  an  Ameri- 
can dees  not  look  for  rivalry  that  bears  the 
suggestion  of  medieval  romance.  The  situa- 
tion savored  too  much  of  the  story-books  that 
are  born  of  the  days  when  knights  held  sway, 
to  appear  natural  in  the  eyes  of  an  up-to-date, 
unromantic  gentleman  from  New  York,  that 
city  where  love  affairs  adjust  themselves  with- 
out the  aid  of  a  novelist. 

Quentin,  of  course,  was  loath  to  believe  that 
Prince  Ugo  would  resort  to  underhand  means 
to  checkmate  a  rival  whose  real  purpose  had 
not  yet  been  anno'  need.  In  six  weeks  the 
finest  wedding  in  years  was  to  occur  in  Brus- 
sels. St.  Gudule,  that  historic  cathedral,  was 
to  be  the  scene  of  a  ceremony  on  which  all 
European  newspapers  had  the  eye  of  com- 
ment. American  papers  had  printed  columns 
concerning  the  engagement  of  the  beautiful 
Miss  Garrison.  Everywhere  had  been  pub- 
lished the  romantic  story  of  this  real  love 
match.     What,  then,  should  the  prince  fear? 

The  train  rumbled  into  Ihe  station  at  Brus- 
sels near  midnight,  and  Turk  sallied  forth  for 
a  cab.      This  he  obtained  without  the  usual 


THE  FA  TE  UI^  A  LETTER  61 

amount  of  haggling  on  his  part,  due  to  the  dis- 
appointing fact  that  the  Belgian  driver  could 
understand  nothing  more  than  the  word  Belle- 
vue,  while  Turk  could  interpret  nothing  more 
than  the  word  franc.  As  Oucatin  was  crossing 
to  the  cab  he  encountered  Duke  Laselli. 
Both  started,  and,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
greeted  each  other. 

"I  thought  I  saw  you  at  Mons,"  said  Phil, 
after  the  first  expressions  of  surprise. 

"Yes;  I  boarded  the  train  there.  Some 
business  called  me  to  Mons  last  week.  And 
you,  I  presume,  like  most  tourists,  are  visiting 
a  dozen  cities  in  half  as  many  days,"  said  the 
duke,  in  his  execrable  English.  They  paused 
at  the  side  of  the  Italian's  conveyance,  and 
Quentin  mentally  resolved  that  the  dim  light, 
as  it  played  upon  the  face  of  the  speaker,  was 
showing  to  him  the  most  repellent  countenance 
he  had  ever  looked  upon. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "I  shall 
probably  remain  until  after  the  marriage  of  my 
friend.  Miss  Garrison,  and  Prince  Ugo.  Are 
you  to  be  here  long?" 

"I  cannot  say,"  answered  the  other,  his 
black  eyes  fastened  on  Quentin's.  "My 
business  here  is  of  an  uncertain  nature." 

"Diplomatic,  I  infer?" 


62  CASTLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

"It  v/ould  not  be  diplomatic  for  me  to  say- 
so,  1  suspect  I  shall  see  you  again,  Mr. 
Quentin." 

"Doubtless;  I  am  to  be  at  the  Bellevue." 

"And  ],  also.  We  may  see  some  of  the  town 
together." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Quentin,  bowing 
deeply.      "Do  you  travel  alone?" 

"The  duchess  is  ill  and  is  in  Florence.  I  am 
so  lonely  without  her." 

"It's  beastly  luck  for  business  to  carry  one 
away  from  a  sick  wife.  By  the  way,  how  is  my 
dear  friend,  Prince  Ugo?" 

"Exceptionally  well,  thank  you.  He  will 
be  pleased  to  know  you  are  here,  for  he  is  com- 
ing to  Brussels  next  week.  I  think,  if  you  will 
pardon  me,  he  has  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  you." 

"I  trust,  after  longer  acquaintance,  he  may 
not  find  me  a  disappointment,"  said  Phil 
warmly,  and  a  faint  look  of  curiosity  flashed 
into  the  duke's  eyes.  As  they  were  saying 
good-night,  Quentin  looked  about  for  the  man 
who  might  be  Courant,  the  detective.  But  the 
duke's  companion  was  not  to  be  seen. 

The  next  morning  Quentin  proceeded  in  a 
very  systematic  and  effective  way  to  locate  the 
home  of  the  Garrisons.  He  was  aware,  in  the 
beginning,  that  they  lived  in  a  huge,  beautiful 


THE  FATE  OF  A  LETTER  c:] 

mansion  somewhere  in  the  Avenue  Louise. 
He  knew  from  his  Baedeker  that  the  upper 
town  was  the  fashionable  quarter,  and  that  the 
Avenue  Louise  was  one  of  the  principal  streets. 
An  electric  tramcar  took  him  speedily  through 
the  Boulevards  Regent  and  Waterloo  to  the 
Avenue  Louise.  A  strange  diffidence  had 
prevented  him  from  asking  at  the  hotel  for 
directions  that  would  easily  have  discovered 
her  home.  Somehow  he  wanted  to  stroll  along 
the  avenue  in  the  early  morning  and  locate  the 
home  of  Dorothy  Garrison  without  other  aid 
than  the  power  which  tells  one  when  he  is 
near  the  object  of  his  adoration.  He  left  the 
car  at  the  head  of  the  avenue  and  walked 
slowly  along  the  street. 

His  mind  was  full  of  her.  Every  vehicle 
that  passed  attracted  his  gaze,  for  he  specu- 
lated that  she  might  be  in  one  of  them.  Not 
a  well-dressed  woman  came  within  the  range  of 
his  vision  but  she  was  subjected  to  a  hurried 
inspection,  even  from  a  distance.  He  strode 
slowly  along,  looking  intently  at  each  house. 
None  of  them  seemed  to  him  to  hold  the 
object  of  his  search.  As  his  steps  carried  him 
farther  and  farther  into  the  beautiful  avenue  he 
began  to  smile  to  himself  and  his  plodding 
spirit  wavered.     After  all,  thought  he,  no  one 


64  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

but  a  silly  ass  would  attempt  to  find  a  person 
in  a  great  city  after  the  fashion  he  was  pursu- 
ing. He  was  deciding  to  board  a  tramcar  and 
return  to  the  hotel  when,  at  some  distance 
ahead,  he  saw  a  young  lady  run  hurriedly 
down  the  steps  of  an  impressive  looking 
house. 

He  recognized'Dorothy  Garrison,  and  with  a 
thump  of  exultation  his  heart  urged  him  across 
the  street  toward  her.  She  evidently  had  not 
seen  him;  her  eyes  were  on  the  ground  and  she 
seemed  preoccupied.  In  her  hand  she  held  a 
letter.  A  gasp  of  astonishment,  almost  of 
alarm,  came  from  her  lips,  her  eyes  opened 
wide  in  that  sort  of  surprise  which  reveals 
something  like  terror,  and  then  she  crumpled 
the  letter  in  her  hand  spasmodically. 

"I  thought  you  lived  down  here  somewhere," 
he  exclaimed,  joyfully,  seizing  her  hand.  ''I 
knew  I  could  find  you." 

"I — I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  stam- 
mered, with  a  brave  effort  to  recover  from  the 
shock  his  appearance  had  created.  "What  are 
you  doing  here,  Phil?" 

"Looking  for  you,  Dorothy.  Shall  I  post 
your  letter?" 

She  was  still  standing  as  if  rooted  to  the 
spot,  the  letter  in  a  sad  plight. 


THE  FA  TE  OF  A  LETTER  65 

"Oh,  I'll  not — not  post  it  now.  I  should 
have  sent  the  footman.  Come  with  me  and 
see  mamma.  I  know  she  will  be  glad  to 
have  you  here,"  she  hurried,  in  evident  con- 
fusion. She  bethought  herself  suddenly  and 
made  an  effort  to  withdraw  the  letter  from  its 
rather  conspicuous  position.  The  hand  con- 
taining it  was  drawn  behind  her  back. 

"That  will  be  very  nice  of  her.  Better  post 
the  letter,  though.  Somebody's  expecting  it, 
you  know.  Hullo!  That's  not  a  nice  way  to 
treat  a  letter.  Let  me  straighten  it  out  for 
you." 

"Never  mind,  Phil^really,  I  don't  care 
about  it.  You  surprised  me  so  tremendously 
that  I  fear  I've  ruined  it.  Now  I  shall  have 
to  write  another." 

"Fiddlesticks!  Send  it  as  it  is.  The  prince 
will  blame  the  postoffice  people,"  cried  he. 

"It  is  not  for  the  prince,"  she  cried,  quickly, 
and  then  became  more  confused  than  ever. 
"Come  to  the  house,  Phil.  You  must  tell  me 
how  you  happen  to  be  here." 

As  they  walked  slowly  to  the  Garrison  home 
and  mounted  the  steps,  she  religiously  held 
the  epistle  where  he  could  not  regard  it  too 
closely  should  his  curiosity  overcome  his  pru- 
dence.    They  were  ushered  into  the  reception 


66  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

room,  and  she  directed  the  footman  to  ask  if 
Mrs.  Garrison  could  see  Mr.  Quentin. 

"Now,  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  said,  taking 
a  chair  quite  across  the  big  room. 

"There's  nothing  to  tell,"  he  said.  "I  am 
in  Brussels,  and  I  thought  I'd  hunt  you  up." 

"But  why  didn't  you  write  or  wire  me  that 
you  were  coming?  You  haven't  acted  much 
like  a  friend,"  she  said,  pointedly. 

"Perhaps  I  wrote  and  never  mailed  the  let- 
ter. Remember  your  experience  just  now. 
You  still  hold  the  unlucky  note  in  your  hand. 
Sometimes  we  think  better  of  our  intentions  at 
the  very  instant  when  they  are  going  into 
effect.  It  is  very  mysterious  to  me  that  you 
wouldn't  mail  that  letter.  lean  only  believe 
that  you  changed  your  mind  when  you  saw  me." 

"How  absurd!  As  if  seeing  you  could  have 
anything  to  do  with  it!" 

"You  ought  to  tell  me  if  my  appearance  here 
is  liable  to  alter  any  plan  that  letter  is  intended 
to  perfect.  Don't  let  me  be  an  inconvenience. 
You  know  I'd  rather  be  anything  than  an  in- 
convenience. ' 

"It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least;  really,  it 
doesn't.     Your  coming " 

The  footman  appeared  on  the  landing  above 
at  that  instant  and  said  something  to  her  in  a 


THE  FA  TE  OF  A  LETTER  67 

language  Quentin  could  not  understand.  He 
afterward  heard  it  was  French.  And  he  always 
had  thought  himself  a  pretty  fair  French 
scholar,  too. 

"Mamma  has  asked  for  me,  Phil.  Will  you 
pardon  me  if  I  leave  you  alone  for  a  moment?' 
she  said,  arising  and  starting  toward  the  grand 
stairway.  The  letter,  which  she  had  forgotten 
for  the  moment,  fell  from  her  lap  to  the  rug. 
In  an  instant  he  had  stepped  forward  to  pick  it 
up.  As  he  stooped  she  realized  what  had 
happened,  and,  with  a  frantic  little  cry, 
stooped  also.  Their  heads  were  close  to- 
gether, but  his  hand  was  the  first  to  touch  the 
missive.  It  lay  with  the  address  upward,  plain 
to  the  eye;  he  could  not  help  seeing  the  name. 

It  was  addressed  to  "Philip  Quentin,  Esq., 
care  of  the  Earl  of  Saxondale,  Park  Lane, 
London,  W.  S."  Surprise  stayed  his  fingers, 
and  hers  clutched  the  envelope  ruthlessly.  As 
they  straightened  themselves  each  was  looking 
directly  into  the  other's  eyes.  In  hers  there 
was  shame,  confusion,  even  guilt;  in  his,  tri- 
umphant, tantalizing  mirth. 

"My  letter,  please,"  he  said,  his  voice  trem- 
bling, he  knew  not  why.  His  hand  was  ex- 
tended. She  drew  suddenly  away  and  a  wave 
of  scarlet  crossed  her  face. 


68  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"What  a  stupid  I  was  to  drop  it,"  she  cried, 
almost  tearfully.  Then  she  laughed  as  the 
true  humor  of  the  situation  made  itself  felt  in 
spite  of  consequences.  "Isn't  it  too  funny  for 
anything?" 

"I  can't  see  anything  funny  in  tampering 
with  the  mails.  You  have  my  letter,  and  I 
hope  it  won't  be  necessary  for  me  to  call  in  the 
officers  of  the  law." 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  give  it  to  you?"  she 
cried,  holding  it  behind  her. 

"Most  assuredly.  If  you  don't,  I'll  ask 
Mrs.  Garrison  to  command  you  to  do  so,"  he 
threatened,  eagerly.  He  would  have  given  his 
head  to  read  the  contents  of  the  letter  that 
caused  her  so  much  concern.  All  sorts  of  con- 
jectures were  racing  through  his  brain. 

"Oh,  please  don't  do  that!"  she  begged,  and 
he  saw  real  supplication  in  her  eyes.  "I 
wouldn't  give  you  the  letter  for  the  world,  and 
I — I — well,  don't  you  see  that  I  am  embar- 
rassed?" 

"Give  me  the  letter,"  he  commanded, 
sternly. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  hate  you?"  she  blazed. 

"Heaven  forbid!" 

"Then  forget  that  your  name  is  on  this  — 
this  detestable  envelope,"   she  cried,   tearing 


THE  FA  TE  OF  A  LETTER  69 

the  missive  into  pieces.  He  looked  on  in 
wonder,  chagrin,  disappointment. 

"By  George,  Dorothy,  that's  downright 
cruel.     It  was  intended  for  me " 

"You  should  thank  me.  I  have  only  saved 
you  the  trouble  of  destroying  it,"  she  said, 
smiling. 

"I  would  have  kept  it  forever,"  he  said, 
fervently. 

"Here's  a  small  bit  of  the  envelope  which 
you  may  keep  as  a  souvenir.  See,  it  has  your 
name — 'Philip'  — on  it.  You  shall  have  that 
much  of  the  letter."  He  took  it  rather  grace- 
lessly  and,  deliberately  opening  his  watch, 
placed  it  inside  the  case.  "I'd  give  ;?io,ooo  to 
know  what  that  letter  had  to  say  to  me." 

"You  can  never  know,'  she  said,  defiantly, 
from  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  "for  I  have  for- 
gotten the  contents  myself." 

She  laughed  as  she  ran  upstairs,  but  he 
detected  confusion  in  the  tone,  and  the  faint 
flush  was  still  on  her  cheek.  He  sat  down  and 
wondered  whether  the  contents  would  have 
pleased  or  displeased  him.  Philosophically 
he  resolved  that  as  long  as  he  was  never  to 
know  he  might  just  as  well  look  at  it  from  a 
cheerful  point  of  view;  he  would  be  pleased. 


IX 

MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

It  would  be  difficult  to  define  the  emotions 
that  consumed  Miss  Garrison  as  she  entered 
her  mother's  boudoir.  She  could  not  conceal 
from  herself  the  sensation  of  jubilant  delight 
because  he  had  come  to  Brussels.  At  the 
same  time,  even  though  his  visit  was  that  of  a 
mere  friend,  it  promised  complications  which 
she  was  loath  to  face.  She  went  into  the  pres- 
ence of  her  mother  with  the  presentiment  that 
the  first  of  the  series  was  at  hand. 

"What  is  Philip  Quentin  doing  here,  Dor- 
othy?" demanded  Mrs,  Garrison.  She  was 
standing  in  the  center  of  the  room,  and  her 
attitude  was  that  of  one  who  has  experienced 
a  very  unpleasant  surprise.  The  calm,  cold 
tone  was  not  far  from  accusing;  her  steely  eyes 
were  hard  and  uncompromising.  The  tall 
daughter  stood  before  her,  one  hand  still 
clutching  the  bits  of  white  paper;  on  her  face 
there  was  the  imprint  of  demure  concern. 

"I  haven't  had  time  to  ask  him,  mamma," 
she  said,  lightly.  "Would  it  be  quite  the 
70 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER  71 

proper  thing  to  demand  the  reason  for  his 
presence  here  when  it  seems  quite  clear  that 
he  is  paying  us  a  brief  morning  call?" 

"Do  not  be  absurd!  I  mean,  what  is  he  doing 
in  Brussels?  Didn't  he  say  he  was  to  return  to 
New  York  last  week?"  There  was  refined  bel- 
ligerence in  her  voice.  Dorothy  gave  a  brief 
thought  to  the  cool,  unabashed  young  man 
below  and  smiled  inwardly  as  she  contemplated 
the  reception  he  was  to  receive  from  this  aus- 
tere interrogator. 

"Don't  ask  me,  mamma.  I  am  as  much 
puzzled  as  you  over  his  sudden  advent.  It  is 
barely  possible  he  did  not  goto  New  York." 

"Well,  why  didn't  he?"  This  was  almost  a 
threat. 

"It  is  a  mystery  we  have  yet  to  unravel. 
Shall  we  send  for  Sherlock  Holmes?" 

"Dorothy,  1  am  very  serious.  How  can  you 
make  light  of  this  unwarranted  intrusion?  He 
is " 

"Why  do  you  call  it  intrusion,  mamma? 
Has  he  not  the  right  to  come?  Can  we  close 
the  door  in  his  face?  Is  he  not  a  friend?  Can 
we  help  ourselves  if  he  knocks  at  our  door  and 
asks  to  see  us?"  Dorothy  felt  a  smart  tug  of 
guilt  as  she  looked  back  and  saw  herself  trudg- 
ing sheepishly  up  the  front   steps  beside  the 


72  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

intruder,  who  had  not  been  permitted  to  knock 
at  the  door. 

"A  gentleman  v/ould  not  subject  you  to  the 
comments  of — of — well,  I  may  say  the  whole 
world.-  He  certainly  saw  the  paragraphs  in 
those  London  papers,  and  he  knows  that  we 
cannot  permit  them  to  be  repeated  over  here. 
He  has  no  right  to  thrust  himself  upon  us 
under  the  circumstances.  You  must  give  him 
to  understand  at  once,  Dorothy,  that  his  inten- 
tions— or  visits,  if  you  choose  to  call  them 
such — are  obnoxious  to  both  of  us." 

"Oh,  mamma!  we've  talked  all  this  over 
before.  What  can  I  do?  I  wouldn't  offend 
him  for  the  world,  and  I  am  sure  he  is  in- 
capable of  any  desire  to  have  me  talked  about. 
He  knows  me  and  he  likes  me  too  well  ioi 
that.  Perhaps  he  will  go  away  soon,"  said 
Dorothy,  despairing  petulance  in  her  voice. 
Secretly  she  was  conscious  of  the  justice  in  hef 
mother's  complaints. 

"He  shall  go  soon,"  said  Mrs.  Garrison,  with 
determination. 

"You  will  not — will  not  drive  him  away?" 
said  her  daughter,  quickly. 

"I  shall  make  him  understand  that  you  are 
not  the  foolish  child  he  knew  in  New  York. 
You  are  about  to  become  a  princess.     He  shall 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER  73 

be  forced  to  see  the  impregnable  wall  between 
himself  and  the  Princess  Ravorelli — for  you  are 
virtually  the  owner  of  that  glorious  title.  A 
single  step  remains  and  then  you  are  no  longer 
Dorothy  Garrison.  Philip  Quentin  I  have 
always  disliked,  even  mistrusted.  His  reputa- 
tion in  New  York  was  that  of  a  man  of  the 
town,  a  rich  roisterer,  a  'breaker  of  hearts,'  as 
your  uncle  has  often  called  him.  He  is  a  dar- 
ing notoriety  seeker,  and  this  is  rare  sport  for 
him."  Mrs.  Garrison's  eyes  were  blazing,  her 
hands  were  clenched,  her  bearing  that  of  one 
who  is  both  judge  and  executioner. 

"I  think  you  do  him  an  injustice,"  said 
Dorothy,  slowly,  a  feeling  of  deep  resentment 
asserting  itself.  "Philip  is  not  what  you  call 
him.  He  is  a  gentleman."  Mother  and 
daughter  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  squarely 
for  a  moment,  neither  flinching,  both  justifying 
themselves  for  the  positions  they  were  to  take. 

"You  defend  him?" 

"As  he  would  defend  me." 

"You  have  another  man  to  defend.  Do  you 
think  of  him?" 

"You  have  yet  to  say  that  Ugo  is  no  gentle- 
man. It  will  then  be  time  for  defense,  such 
as  I  am  offering  now." 

"We  are  keeping  your  friend  waiting,  Dor- 


74  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

othy,"  said  Mrs.  Garrison,  with  blasting  irony. 
"Give  him  my  compliments  and  say  that  we 
trust  he  may  come  every  day.  He  affords  us 
a  subject  for  pleasant  discussion,  and  I  am  sure 
Prince  Ugo  will  be  as  charmed  to  meet  him 
here  as  he  was  in  London." 

"Don't   be    sarcastic,    mamma.      It   doesn't 

'jielp  matters  and "  began  Dorothy,  almost 

plaintively. 

"Mr.  Quentin  certainly  does  not  help  mat- 
\.ers,  my  dear.  Still,  if  you  will  enjoy  the 
comment,  the  notoriety  that  he  may  be  gener- 
ous enough  to  share  with  you,  I  can  say  no 
wore.  When  you  are  ready  to  dismiss  him, 
^/•ou  shall  find  me  your  ally."  She  was  trium- 
phant because  she  had  scored  with  sarcasm  a 
point  where  reason  must  have  fallen  far  short. 

"I  might  tell  Rudolf  to  throw  him  into  the 
street,"  said  Dorothy,  dolefully,  "only  I  am 
quite  positive  Phil  would  refuse  to  be  thrown 
by  less  than  three  Rudolfs,  But  he  is  expecting 
you  downstairs,  mamma.     He  asked  for  you." 

"I  cannot  see  him  to-day.  Tell  him  I  shall 
be  only  too  glad  to  see  him  if  he  calls  again," 
and  there  was  a  deep,  unmistaken  meaning  in 
the  way  she  said  it. 

"You  will  not  go  down?"  Dorothy's  face 
flushed    with   something"  akin   to  humiliation. 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER  75 

After  all,  he  did  not  deserve  to  be  treated  like 
a  dog. 

"I  am  quite  content  upstairs,"  replied  Mrs. 
Garrison,  sweetly. 

Dorothy  turned  from  her  mother  without 
another  word,  and  as  she  went  down  the  stairs 
there  was  rebellion  in  her  soul;  the  fires  of 
resistance  showed  their  first  tiny  tongues  in 
the  hot  wave  that  swept  through  her  being. 
Quentin  was  stretched  out  comfortably  in  a  big 
chair,  his  back  toward  the  stairs,  his  eyes  upon 
the  busy  avenue  below.  She  paused  for  a 
moment  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  there  was 
a  strange  longing  to  pass  her  fingers  over  the 
thick  dark  hair.  The  thought  pass.-d  instan- 
taneously, but  there  was  a  new  shyness  in  her 
manner  as  she  approached. 

"Hullo,"  he  said,  arising  as  he  heard  her 
footfall.  "Been  watching  the  people  drive  by. 
Pretty  smart  traps,  some  of  them,  too.  The 
old  families  that  came  over  in  the  Ark  with 
Moses — er,  Noah,  I  should  say."  There  was 
deep  concern  in  the  remark,  but  she  was  con- 
fident that  he  vaguely  understood  why  she  was 
alone. 

"Mamma  trusts  you  will  excuse  her  this 
morning.  She  says  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you 
when  you  come  again."     She  seated  herself  on 


76  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

a  divan  near  the  window,  a  trifle  out  of  the 
glaring  light  of  the  August  sun.  She  held  in 
her  hand  a  fan  and  the  bits  of  paper  had  disap- 
peared.    "Isn't  it  dreadfully  warm?" 

"Looks  like  rain,  too,"  said  he,  briefly. 
Then,  with  new  animation:  "Tell  me,  what  was 
in  that  letter?" 

"Nothing  but  nonsense,"  she  replied,  smil- 
ing serenely,  for  she  was  again  a  diplomat. 

"How  dare  you!  How  dare  you  write  non- 
sense to  me?  But,  really,  I'd  like  to  know 
what  it  was.  You'll  admit  I  have  a  right  to 
be  curious." 

"It  pleases  me  to  see  you  curious.  I  believe 
it  is  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you  interested  in 
anything.     Quite  novel,  I  assure  you." 

"Don't  you  mean  to  tell  me?" 

"Assuredly— not." 

"Well,  I  think  it's  a  roaring  shame  to  write 
anything  to  a  fellow  that  he  can't  be  allowed 
to  read.     I  wouldn't  treat  you  that  way." 

"I  know  you  wouldn't.  You  are  too  good, 
and  too  sensible,  and  too  considerate,  and  all 
the  other  kind  of  too's,  while  I  am  just  an 
unaccountable  ninny.  If  you  ever  did  anything 
crazy  you  wouldn't  like  to  have  it  found  out, 
would  you?" 

"By  all  means!     Then   I   could   take  treat- 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER  11 

ment  for  the  malady.  Lean  forward, 'Dorothy, 
so  that  I  can  see  your  eyes.  That's  right! 
Now,  look  at  me  squarely.  Will  you  tell  me 
what  was  in  that  letter?"  She  returned  his 
gaze  steadily,  almost  mockingly. 

"No." 

"That's  all  I  want  to  know.  I  can  always 
tell  by  a  girl's  eyes  whether  she  is  stubborn." 

"I  am  not  stubborn." 

"Well,  I'll  drop  the  matter  for  all  time. 
Doubtless  you  were  right  when  you  said  it  was 
nonsense;  you  ought  to  know.  Changing  the 
subject,  I  think  I'll  like  Brussels  if  I  stay  here 
long  enough."  He  was  again  nonchalant, 
indifferent.  Under  her  mask  of  unconcern  she 
felt  a  trifle  piqued  that  he  did  not  persist  in  his 
endeavor  to  learn  the  contents  of  the  unfortu- 
nate letter. 

"How  long  do  you  expect — I  mean  purpose 
to  stay?"  she  asked. 

"It  depends  on  conditions.  I  may  be  crazy 
enough  to  stay  six  weeks  and  I  may  be  crazy 
enough  to  go  away  next  week.  You  see,  I'm 
not  committing  myself  to  any  specified  degree 
of  insanity;  it  won't  make  so  much  difference 
when  I  am  found  out,  as  you  say.  At  present, 
however,  I  contemplate  staying  until  that 
affair  at  St.  Gudule." 


78  CA  STLE-  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

She  could  not  hide  the  annoyance,  the  dis- 
comfiture, his  assertion  inspired.  In  a  second 
she  saw  endless  unpleasantries — some  pleas- 
antries, it  is  fair  to  say — and  there  seemed  to 
be  no  gentle  way  of  escape.  At  the  same 
time,  there  came  once  more  the  queer  flutter 
she  had  felt  when  she  met  him  in  the  street,  a 
half-hour  before. 

"You  will  find  it  rather  dull  here,  I  am 
afraid,"  she  found  courage  to  say.  "Or  do 
you  know  many  people  —  the  American  min- 
ister, perhaps?" 

"Don't  know  a  soul  here  but  you  and  Mrs. 
Garrison.  It  won't  be  dull — not  in  the  least. 
We'll  ride  and  drive,  go  ballooning  or  anything 
you  like " 

"But  I  can't,  Phil.  Do  you  forget  that  I 
am  to  be  married  in  six  weeks?"  she  cried, 
now  frightened  into  an  earnest  appeal. 

"That's  it,  precisely.  After  that  you  can't 
go  ballooning  with  anybody  but  the  prince,  so 
for  at  least  a  month  you  can  have  a  good  time 
telling  me  what  a  jolly  good  fellow  he  is. 
That's  what  girls  like,  you  know,  and  I  don't 
mind  in  the  least.  If  you  want  to  talk  about 
him  by  the  hour,  I  won't  utter  an  objection. 
Of  course,  I  suppose  you'll  be  pretty  busy  with 
your  trousseau  and  so  forth,  and  you'll  have 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER  79 

the  house  full  of  visitors,  too,  no  doubt.  But 
you  can  give  me  a  little  time." 

"I  am  sure  mamma  would  not " 

"She  never  did  approve,  if  that's  what  you 
were  about  to  say.  What  is  she  afraid  of? 
Does  she  imagine  that  I  want  to  marry  you? 
Good  heavens!"  So  devout  was  his  implied 
denial  of  such  a  project  that  she  felt  herself 
grow  hot.  "Doesn't  she  think  the  prince  has 
you  safely  won?  You  are  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  yourself,  I'm  sure." 

"She  knows  that  I  love  Prince  Ugo,  and  that 
he  is  the  only  man  I  shall  ever  love.  Her 
disapproval  would  arise  from  the  needless  ex- 
posure to  comment.  You  remember  what  the 
London  paper  said  about  us."  If  she  thought 
that  he  was  chilled  by  her  bold  opening  asser- 
tion she  was  to  find  herself  mistaken.  He 
smiled  complacently. 

"I  thought  it  was  very  nice  of  them.  I  am 
preserving  the  clipping,"  he  said,  airily. 
"We  can  talk  over  this  l'>tle  difficulty  wMth 
public  opinion  when  we've  had  more  time  to 
think  about  it.  You  see,  I've  been  here  but 
ten  hours,  and  I  may  be  willing  to  leave  to- 
morrow, that  is,  after  I've  seen  more  of  the 
town.  I  may  not  like  the  king,  and  I'm  quite 
sure  the  palace  doesn't  suit  me.      I'll    come 


80  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

around  to-morrow  and  we'll  drive  through  one 
of  these  famous  parks " 

"Oh,  no,  Phil!  Really,  you  don't  know  how 
it  embarrasses  me " 

"I'll  go  away  to-night,  if  you  say  you  don't 
want  to  see  me  at  all,  Dorothy,"  he  said,  seri- 
ously, rising  and  standing  before  her. 

"I  don't  mean  that.  You  know  I  want  to 
see  you — for  old  times'  sake." 

"I  shall  go,  nevertheless,  if  you  merely  hint 
that  I  am  unwelcome."  She  arose  and  sud- 
denly gave  him  her  hand. 

"You  are  not  unwelcome,  and  you  are  foolish 
to  speak  in  that  manner,"   she  said,  seriously. 

"And  your  mother?" 

"She  must  endure  what  I  endure." 

"Somewhere  Baedeker  says  that  the  Bois 
de  la  Cambre  is  the  finest  park  in  Brussels," 
said  he,  his  eyes  gleaming. 

"I  am  quite  sure  Baedeker  is  reliable,"  she 
agreed,  with  a  smile. 

"At  three  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon, 
then,  I  will  come  for  you.  Will  you  remember 
me  to  your  mother  and  tell  her  I  am  sorry  not 
to  see  her  to-day?     Good-bye!" 

She  followed  him  to  the  door,  and  when  he 
sped  lightly  down  the  steps  there  was  a  broad 
smile  on  the  face  of  each.      He  turned  and 


jffOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER  81 

both  laughed  outright.  "Where  there's  a  will, 
there's  a  way,"  she  mused,  as  she  went  to  her 
room  upstairs.  An  hour  later  her  daily  letter 
to  the  prince  was  ready  for  the  post.  The 
only  allusion  to  the  visitor  of  the  morning  was: 
"Mr.  Quentin — our  New  York  friend,  you  will 
remember — made  us  a  brief  call  this  morning. 
He  is  quite  undecided  as  to  the  length  of  his 
stay  here,  but  I  hope  you  will  be  here  to  see 
him." 

Then,  dismissing  Quentin  from  her  mind, 
she  sat  down  to  dream  of  the  one  great  event  in 
her  life — this  wonderful,  glorious  wedding  in 
old  St.  Gudule's.  Already  her  trousseau  was 
on  a  fair  way  to  completion.  She  gave  no 
thought  to  the  fortune  that  these  gowns  were 
to  cost,  she  considered  not  the  glories  she  was 
to  reap  by  becoming  a  real  princess,  she  dwelt 
not  on  the  future  before  her,  for  she  knew  she 
was  to  be  happy  with  Ugo.  Instead,  she 
dreamed  only  of  the  "color  scheme"  that  was 
to  make  memorable  her  wedding  procession. 

In  her  mind's  eye  she  saw  the  great  church 
thronged  with  the  most  brilliant,  illustrious 
assemblage  it  had  ever  held  (she  was  quite 
sure  no  previous  gathering  could  have  been 
more  august),  and  a  smile  of  pride  came  to  her 
lips.      The  great  chorus,   the  procession,   the 


82  CA  STLE  CRA NEYCRO  W 

lights,  the  incomprehensible  combination  of 
colors,  the  chancel,  the  flowers,  her  wedding 
gown,  and  Ugo's  dark,  glowing  face  rushed  in 
and  out  of  her  vision  as  she  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  and — almost  forgot  to  breathe.  The 
thought  of  Ugo  grew  and  grew;  she  closed  her 
eyes  and  saw  him  at  her  side  as  they  walked 
proudly  from  the  altar  with  the  good  bishop's 
blessing  and  the  song  of  the  choir  in  their 
ears,  the  swelling  of  love  in  their  souls.  So 
vivid  became  the  dream  of  his  presence  that 
she  could  almost  feel  his  hand  touching  hers: 
she  felt  her  eyes  turn  toward  him,  with  all  that 
great  crowd  watching,  and  her  heart  quivered 
with  passion  as  his  dark,  happy  eyes  burnt 
through  to  her  very  soul.  Somehow  she  heard 
distinctly  the  whisper,  "My  wife!" 

Suddenly  a  strange  chill  came  over  this  idle, 
happy  dream,  and  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a 
start,  Ugo's  face  fading  away  like  a  flash.  The 
thought  had  rushed  in  like  a  stab  from  a  dag- 
ger. Would  Philip  Quentin  be  there,  and 
would  he  care?    Would  he  care? 


X 

TIVO  TN  A    TRAP 

"'*Th'  juke  sent  his  card  up,  sir,"  said  Turk, 
whv  n  his  master  was  once  more  in  his  rooms  at 
the  Bellevue.  Turk  was  looking  eminently 
resptictable  in  a  new  suit  of  blue  serge. 

"When?"  asked  Phil,  glancing  at  Laselli's 
card.  He  had  forgotten  the  Italian,  and  the 
sight  of  his  name  recalled  the  plot  unpleas- 
antly. 

"  'l^out  eleven  o'clock.  I  watched  him 
leave  th'  hotel  an'  go  down  that  street  over 
there— th'  same  one  you  took  a  little  earlier." 

"Watching  me,  I  suspect.  Haven't  seen 
that  detective  fellow,  have  you,  Turk?  You 
ought  to  be  able  to  scent  a  detective  three 
miles  away." 

"I  can't  scent  in  this  language,  sir." 

Early  in  the  evening,  as  Quentin  was  leaving 
the  hotel  for  a  short  stroll,  he  met  the  duke. 
The  Italian  accosted  him  familiarly  and  asked 
if  he  were  trying  to  find  a  cool  spot. 

"I  thought  a  ride  on  the  tramcars  might  cool 
me  off  a  bit,"  said  Phil. 

"I  know  the  city  quite  well,  and  I,  too,  am 
83 


84  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

searching  for  relief  from  the  heat.      Do  you 
object  to  company  in  your  ride  or  stroll?" 

"Happy  to  have  you,  I  assure  you.  If 
you'll  be  good  enough  to  wait  here  for  a  mo- 
ment, till  I  find  my  stick,  I'll  be  with  you." 
The  duke  bowed  politely,  and  Phil  hastened 
back  to  his  rooms.  He  secured  his  stick,  and 
did  more.  Like  a  wise  young  man,  he  be- 
thought himself  of  a  possible  trap,  and  the  quest 
of  the  stick  gave  him  the  opportunity  to  instruct 
Turk  to  follow  him  and  the  duke  and  to  be 
where  he  was  needed  in  case  of  an  emergency. 

The  tall,  fresh-faced  American  in  his  flan- 
nels, and  the  short,  bearded  Italian  in  his  trim 
frock  coat  and  silk  hat  strolled  leisurely  forth 
into  the  crowded  Place  du  Palais. 

"Shall  we  walk  awhile  and  then  find  a  cafe 
where  we  may  have  something  to  drink?"  asked 
the  duke,  his  English  so  imperfect  that  no 
writer  could  reproduce  it. 

"I  am  in  your  hands,  and  at  your  mercy," 
said  the  other,  clinging  close  to  him  as  they 
merged  into  the  crowd. 

"May  I   ask   if   you  have  many  friends    in 
Brussels?"     Under  the  politeness  of  the  inquiry 
Quentin,  with  amusement,  saw  the  real  inter- 
est.    Looking  calmly  into  the  Italian's  beady 
eyes,  he  said: 


TIVO  IN  A  TRAP  85 

"I  know  but  four  persons  here,  and  you  are 
included  in  the  list.  My  servant  is  another, 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Garrison  are  old  and  particular 
friends,  you  know.  In  fact,  my  dear  duke,  I 
don't  believe  I  should  have  come  to  Brussels 
at  all  were  they  not  here." 

"They  are  most  charming  and  agreeable," 
murmured  the  duke.  "This  is  such  a  fright- 
ful crowd  Shall  we  not  cross  to  the  other 
side?" 

"What's  the  use?  I  used  to  play  football — ■ 
you  don't  know  what  that  is,  I  suppose — and 
I'll  show  you  how  to  get  through  a  mob.  Get 
In  front — that's  right — and  I'll  bring  up  in  the 
rear."  Laughing  to  himself,  he  brought  his 
big  frame  up  against  the  little  man's  back  and 
surged  forward.  Sure  enough,  they  went 
"through  the  mob,"  but  the  duke  was  the  volley 
end  of  the  battering  ram.  Never  in  all  his 
life  had  he  made  such  hurried  and  seemingly 
unnecessary  progress  through  a  blockading 
crowd  of  roisterers.  When  they  finally  went 
lunging  into  the  half-deserted  Rue  de  la 
Madeleine,  his  silk  hat  was  awry,  his  com- 
posure was  ruffled,  and  he  was  very  much  out 
of  breath.  Phil,  supremely  at  ease,  heaved  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  drawing  from  the  Italian  a 
half-angry,  half-admiring  glance. 


86  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Much  easier  than  I  thought,"  said  Quentin, 
puffing  quietly  at  his  cigar. 

"We  did  it  very  nicely,"  agreed  the  other, 
with  a  brave  effort  to  equal  the  American's 
unconcern.  Nevertheless,  he  said  to  himself 
many  times  before  they  reached  the  broad 
Boulevard  Anspach,  that  never  had  he  taken 
such  "a  stroll,"  and  never  had  he  known  how 
little  difference  there  was  between  a  steam  and 
a  human  propeller.  He  almost  forgot,  as  they 
sat  at  a  small  table  in  front  of  a  cafe,  to  insti- 
tute his  diplomatic  search  for  the  real  object  of 
the  American's  presence  in  Brussels. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  they  returned  to 
the  hotel,  after  a  rather  picturesque  evening  in 
the  gay  cafes. 

Here  is  what  the  keen  little  Italian  deduced: 
Ouentin  was  to  remain  in  Brussels  until  he 
took  a  notion  to  go  somewhere  else;  Quentin 
had  seen  the  prince  driving  on  the  Paris  boule- 
vards; the  Bois  de  la  Cambre  offers  every 
attraction  to  a  man  who  enjoys  driving;  the 
American  slept  with  a  revolver  near  his  pillow, 
and  his  manservant  had  killed  six  or  seven 
men  in  the  United  States  because  of  his  mar- 
vellous skill  with  the  pistol;  Quentin  was  a 
most  unsophisticated  young  man,  with  honesty 
and  innocence  in  his  frank  eyes,  although  they 


TWO  IN  A   TRAP  87 

sometimes  grew  rather  searching;  he  could 
only  be  overcome  by  cunning;  he  was  in  love 
with  Miss  Garrison. 

Quentin's  conclusions:  Laselli  was  a  liar 
and  an  ass;  Prince  Ugo  would  be  in  Brussels 
within  ten  days;  he  was  careless  with  the 
hearts  of  women  and  cruel  with  their  love; 
French  detectives  are  the  best  in  the  world, 
the  most  infallible;  Miss  Garrison  loved  the 
very  ground  the  prince  trod  upon.  He  also 
discovered  that  the  duke  could  drink  wine  as  a 
fish  drinks  water,  and  that  he  seldom  made 
overtures  to  pay  for  it  until  his  com-panion 
had  the  money  in  hand,  ready  to  do  so. 

Turk  was  waiting  for  him  when  he  reached 
his  rooms,  and  Turk  was  not  amiable.  A  very 
attractive,  innocent  and  demure  young  lady, 
who  could  not  speak  English  except  Vv'ith  her 
hands  and  eyes,  had  relieved  him  of  a  stickpin 
and  his  watch  while  he  sat  with  her  at  a  table 
not  far  from  the  man  he  was  protecting  with 
his  vaunted  "eagle  eye." 

"An'  she  swiped  'em  right  under  me  nose, 
an'  me  eyes  square  on  her,  too.  These  people 
ire  too  keen  for  me.  They  ain't  a  fairy  in 
New  York  that  could  'a'  touched  me  v/ithout 
d'  dope,  lemme  tell  you.  I  t'ought  I  knowed 
a  t'ing  er  two,  but  I  don't  know  buttons  from 


88  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

fishhooks.     I'm  d'  easiest  t'ing  'at  ever  went 
to  Sunday  school." 

It  was  with  a  flushed,  rebellious  face  that 
Miss  Garrison  stepped  into  the  victoria  the 
next  afternoon  for  the  drive  to  the  Bois  de  la 
Cambre.  She  had  come  from  a  rather  trying 
tilt  with  her  mother,  and,  as  they  drove  off 
between  the  rows  of  trees,  she  felt  that  a  pair 
of  flaming  eyes  were  levelled  from  a  certain 
upstairs  window  in  the  Avenue  Louise.  The 
Biblical  admonition  to  "honor  thy  father  and 
thy  mother"  had  not  been  entirely  disregarded 
by  this  willful  young  lady,  but  it  had  been 
stretched  to  an  unusual  limit  for  the  occasion. 
She  felt  that  she  was  very  much  imposed  upon 
by  circumstances  in  the  shape  of  an  unreason- 
able mother  and  an  inconvenient  friend. 

Mr.  Quentin,  more  in  love  than  ever,  and 
more  deeply  inspired  by  the  longing  to  win 
where  reason  told  him  he  must  fail,  did  not 
flatter  himself  into  believing  that  Mrs.  Garri- 
son wholly  approved  of  the  drive.  Instead,  he 
surmised  from  the  beginning  that  Dorothy's 
flushed  cheeks  were  not  from  happiness,  but 
from  excitement,  and  that  he  was  not  alto- 
gether a  shadowy  cause.  With  rare  tact  he 
plunged  at  once  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  of 


7W0  IN  A    TRAP  89 

uncertainty  and  began  to  struggle  upward  to 
the  light,  preferring  such  a  course  to  the  one 
where  you  start  at  the  top,  go  down  and  then 
find  yourself  powerless  to  get  back  to  the  sur- 
face. 

"Was  your  mother  very  much  annoyed  when 
you  said  you  were  coming  out  with  me?"  he 
asked.  She  started  and  a  queer  little  tinge 
of  embarrassment  sprang  into  her  eyes. 

"How  absurd!"  she  said,  readily,  however, 
"Isn't  the  avenue  beautiful?" 

"I  don't  know — yet,"  he  said,  without  look- 
ing at  the  avenue.  "What  did  she  say?"  Miss 
Garrison  did  not  reply,  but  looked  straight 
ahead  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him.  "See 
here,  Dorothy,  I'm  not  a  child  and  Im  not  a 
lovesick  fool.  Just  curious,  that's  all.  Your 
mother  has  no  cause  to  be  afraid  of  me " 

"You  flatter  yourself  by  imagining  such  a 
thing  as " 

" because  there   isn't   any  more  danger 

that  I  shall  fall  in  love  with  you  than  theie  is 
of — of — well,  of  your  falling  in  love  with  me; 
and  you  know  how  improbable " 

"I  don't  see  any  occasion  to  refer  to  love  in 
any  way,"  she  said,  icil5^  "Mamma  certainly 
does  not  expect  me  to  do  such  an  extraordinary 
thing.     If  you  will  talk  sensibly,  Phil,  we  may 


90  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

enjoy  the  drive,  but  if  you  persist  in  talking  of 
affairs  so  ridiculous " 

"I  can't  say  that  I  expect  you  to  fall  in  love 
with  me,  so  for  once  your  mother  and  I  agree. 
Nevertheless,  she  didn't  want  you  to  come  with 
me,"  he  said,  absolutely  undisturbed. 

"How  do  you  know  she  didn't?"  she  de- 
manded, womanlike.  Then,  before  she  was 
quite  aware  of  it,  they  were  in  a  deep  and 
earnest  discussion  of  Mrs.  Garrison,  and  her 
not  very  complimentary  views. 

"And  how  do  you  feel  about  this  confounded 
prospect,  Dorothy?  You  are  not  afraid  of 
what  a  few  gossips — noble  or  otherwise — may 
say  about  a  friendship  that  is  entirely  the  busi- 
ness of  two  people  and  not  the  property  of  the 
general  public?  If  you  feel  that  I  am  in  the 
way  I'll  gladly  go,  you  know.  Of  course,  I'd 
rather  hate  to  miss  seeing  you  once  in  a  while, 
but  I  think  I'd  have  the  courage  to " 

"Oh,  it's  not  nice  of  you  to  be  sarcastic," 
she  cried,  wondering,  however,  whether  he 
really  meant  "gladly"  when  he  said  it.  Some- 
how she  felt  herself  admitting  that  she  was 
piqued  by  his  apparent  readiness  to  abdicate. 
She  did  not  know  that  he  was  cocksure  of  his 
ground  before  making  the  foregoing  and  other 
observations  equally  as   indifferent. 


TWO  IN  A   TRAP  91 

"I'm  not  sarcastic;  quite  the  reverse.  I'm 
very  serious.  You  know  how  much  I  used  to 
think  of  you " 

"But  that  was  long  ago,  and  you  were  such 
a  foolish  boy,"  she  cried,  interrupting  nerv- 
ously. 

"Yes,  I  know;  a  boy  must  have  his  foolish 
streaks.  Hov/  a  fellow  changes  as  he  gets 
older,  and  how  he  looks  back  and  laughs  at  the 
fancies  he  had  when  a  boy.  Same  way  with  a 
girl,  though,  I  suppose.*'  He  said  it  so  calmly, 
so  naturally  that  she  took  a  sly  peep  at  his 
face.  It  revealed  nothing  but  blissful  imper- 
turbability. 

"I'm  glad  you  agree  with  me.  You  see, 
I've  always  thought  you  were  horribly  bi  oken 
up  when  I — when  I  found  that  I  also  was 
indulging  in  a  foolish  streak.  I  belit  ve  I 
came  to  my  senses  before  you  did,  though, 
and  saw  how  ridiculous  it  all  was.  Children 
do  such  queer  things,  don't  they?"  It  v/  ts  his 
turn  to  take  a  sly  peep,  and  his  spirits  went 
down  a  bit  under  the  pressure  of  her  i  ndis- 
guised  frankness. 

"How  lucky  it  was  we  found  it  out  lefore 
we  ran  av/ay  with  each  other,  as  we  on^e  had 
the  nerve  to  contemplate,  Gad,  Doi-oti.y,  did 
you  ever  stop  to  think  what  a  m.istake  i>  would 


92  CA STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

have  Deen?"  She  was  bowing  to  some  people 
in  a  brougham,  and  the  question  was  never 
answered.  After  a  while  he  went  on,  going 
back  to  the  original  subject.  "I  shall  see  Mrs. 
Garrison  to-night  and  talk  it  over  with  her. 
Explain  to  her,  you  know,  and  convince  her 
that  I  don't  in  the  least  care  what  the  gossips 
say  about  me.  I  believe  I  can  live  it  all  down, 
if  they  do  say  I  am  madly,  hopelessly  in  love 
with  the  very  charming  fiancee  of  an  Italian 
prince." 

"You  have  me  to  reckon  with,  Phil;  I  am 
the  one  to  consider  and  the  one  to  pass  judg- 
ment. You  may  be  able  to  appease  mamma, 
but  it  is  I  who  will  determine  whether  it  is  to 
be  or  not  to  be.  Let  us  drop  the  subject.  For 
the  present,  we  are  having  a  charming  drive. 
Is  it  not  beautiful?" 

To  his  amazement  and  to  hers,  when  they 
returned  late  in  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Garrison 
asked  him  to  come  back  and  dine. 

"I  must  be  dreaming,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  drove  away.  "She's  as  shrewd  as  the 
deuce,  and  there's  a  motive  in  her  sudden 
friendliness.  I'm  beginning  to  wonder  how 
far  I'll  drop  and  how  hard  I'll  hit  when  this 
affair  explodes.  Well,  it's  worth  a  mighty 
strenuous  effort.     If  I  win,   I'm  the  luckiest 


TIVO  IN  A   TRAP  93 

fool  on  earth;  if  I  lose,  the  surprise  won't 
kill  me."  At  eight  he  presented  himself  again 
at  the  Garrison  house  and  found  that  he  was 
not  the  only  guest.  He  was  introduced  to  a 
number  of  people,  three  of  whom  were  Ameri- 
cans, the  others  French.  These  were  Hon. 
and  Mrs.  Horace  Knowlton  and  their  daughter. 
Miss  Knowlton,  M.  and  Mme.  de  Cartier, 
Mile.  Louise  Gaudelet  and  Count  Raoul  de 
Vincent. 

"Dorothy  tells  me  you  are  to  be  in  Brussels 
for  several  weeks,  and  I  was  sure  you  would  be 
glad  to  know  some  of  the  people  here.  They 
can  keep  you  from  being  lonesome,  and  they 
will  not  permit  you  to  feel  that  you  are  a 
stranger  in  a  strange  land,"  said  Mrs.  Garri- 
son. Quentin  bowed  deeply  to  her,  flashed  a 
glance  of  understanding  at  Dorothy,  and  then 
surveyed  the  strangers  he  was  to  meet.  Quick 
intelligence  revealed  her  motive  in  inviting 
him  to  meet  these  people,  and  out  of  sheer 
respect  for  her  shrewdness  he  felt  like  applaud- 
ing. She  was  cleverly  providing  him  with 
acquaintances  that  any  man  might  wish  to  pos- 
sess, and  she  was  doing  it  so  early  that  the 
diplomacy  of  her  action  was  as  plain  as  day  to 
at  least  two  people. 

"Mamma  is  clever,  isn't  she?"  Dorothy  said 


94  CASTLE  CRANEYCRO  W 

to  him,  merrily,  as  they  entered  the  dining- 
room.  Neither  was  surprised  to  find  that  he 
had  been  chosen  to  take  her  out.  It  was  in 
the  game. 

"She  is  very  kind.  I  can't  say  how  glad  I 
am  to  meet  these  people.  My  stay  here  can't 
possibly  be  dull,"  he  said.  "Mile.  Gaudelet  is 
stunning,  isn't  she?" 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  she  asked,  and 
she  did  not  see  his  smile. 

The  dinner  was  a  rare  one,  the  company 
brilliant,  but  there  was  to  occur,  before  the 
laughter  in  the  wine  had  spent  itself,  an  inci- 
dent in  which  Philip  Quentin  figured  so  con- 
spicuously that  his  wit  as  a  dinner  guest 
ceased  to  be  the  topic  of  subdued  side  talk, 
and  he  took  on  a  new  personality. 


XI 

FROM  THE  POTS  AND  PLANTS 

The  broad  veranda,  which  faced  the  avenue 
and  terminated  at  the  corner  of  the  house  in  a 
huge  circle,  not  unlike  an  open  conservatory, 
afforded  a  secluded  and  comparatively  cool 
retreat  for  the  diners  later  in  the  evening. 
Banked  along  the  rails  were  the  rarest  of  trop- 
ical plants;  shaded  incandescent  lamps  sent 
their  glow  from  somewhere  among  the  palms, 
and  there  was  a  suggestion  of  fairy-land  in 
the  scene.  If  Quentin  had  a  purpose  in  being 
particularly  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to 
Mile.  Gaudelet,  he  did  not  suspect  that 
he  was  making  an  implacable  foe  of  Henri 
de  Cartier,  the  husband  of  another  very 
charming  young  woman.  Unaccustomed  to 
the  intrigues  of  Paris,  and  certainly  not  aware 
that  Brussels  copied  the  fashions  of  her  bigger 
sister  across  the  border  in  more  w^ays  than 
one,  he  could  not  be  expected  to  know  that 
^Q  Cartier  loved  not  his  wife  and  did  love  the 
■pretty  Louise.  Nor  could  his  pride  have  been 
convinced  that  the  young  woman  at  his  side 
95 


96  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

was  enjoying  the  tete-a-tete  chiefly  because  de 
Cartier  was  fiercely  cursing  the  misfortune 
which  had  thrown  this  new  element  into  con- 
flict. It  may  be  unnecessary  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Garrison  was  delighted  with  the  unmistakable 
signs  of  admiration  manifested  by  the  two 
young  people. 

It  was  late  when  Quentin  reluctantly  arose 
to  make  his  adieux.  He  had  finished  acknowl- 
edging the  somewhat  effusive  invitations  to 
the  houses  of  his  new  acquaintances,  and  was 
standing  near  Dorothy,  directly  in  front  of  a 
tall  bank  of  palms.  From  one  point  of  view 
this  collection  of  plants  looked  like  a  dense 
jungle,  so  thickly  were  they  placed  on  the 
porch  at  its  darkest  end.  The  light  from  a 
drawing-room  window  shone  across  the  front  of 
the  green  mass,  but  did  not  penetrate  the  re- 
cess near  the  porch  rail.  He  was  taking 
advantage  of  a  very  brief  opportunity,  while 
others  were  moving  away,  to  tell  her  that  Mile. 
Louise  was  fascinating,  when  her  hand  sud- 
denly clasped  his  arm  and  she  whispered: 

"Phil,  there  is  a  man  behind  those  palms." 
His  figure  straightened,  but  he  did  not  look 
around. 

"Nonsense,  Dorothy.  How  could  a  man 
get "  he  began,  in  a  very  low  tone. 


FROM  THE  POTS  AND  PLANTS  97 

"I  saw  the  leaves  move,  and  just  now  I  saw 
a  foot  near  the  rail.  Be  careful,  for  heaven's 
sake,  but  look  for  yourself;  he  is  near  the  win- 
dow." 

Like  statues  they  stood,  she  rigid  under  the 
strain,  but  brave  enough  and  cool  enough  to 
maintain  a  remarkable  composure.  She  felt 
the  muscle  of  his  forearm  contract,  and  there 
swept  over  her  a  strange  dread.  His  eyes 
sought  the  spot  indicated  in  a  perfectly  natural 
manner,  and  there  was  no  evidence  of  pertur- 
bation in  his  gaze  or  posture.  The  foot  of  a 
man  was  dimly  discernible  in  the  shadow, 
protruding  from  behind  a  great  earthen  jar. 
Without  a  word  he  led  her  across  the  porch  to 
where  the  others  stood. 

"Good-night,  Mrs.  Garrison,"  he  said, 
calmly,  taking  the  hand  she  proffered.  Dor- 
othy, now  trembling  like  a  leaf,  looked  on  in 
mute  surprise.  Did  he  mean  to  depart  calmly, 
with  the  knowledge  that  they  needed  his  pro- 
tection? "Good-night,  Miss  Garrison.  I  trust 
I  shall  see  you  soon."  Then,  in  a  lower  tone: 
"Get  the  people  around  the  corner  here,  and 
not  a  word  to  them." 

The  ladies  were  quite  well  past  the  corner 
before  he  ventured  to  tell  the  men,  whom  he 
held  back  on  some  trifling  pretext,  that  there 


98  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

was  a  man  among  the  plants.  The  information 
might  have  caused  a  small  panic  had  not  his 
coolness  dominated  the  nerves  of  the  others. 

"Call  the  gendarmes,"  whispered  de  Cartier, 
panic  stricken.      "Call  the  servants." 

"We  don't  want  the  ofificers  nor  the  serv- 
ants," said  Philip,  coolly.  "Let  the  ladiet. 
get  inside  the  house  and  we'll  soon  have  a  look 
at  our  fellow  guest." 

"But  he  may  be  armed,"  said  the  count, 
nervously. 

"Doubtless  he  is.  Burglars  usually  are.  I 
had  an  experience  with  an  armed  burglar  once 
on  a  time,  and  I  still  live.  Perhaps  a  few 
palms  will  be  damaged,  but  we'll  be  as  con- 
siderate as  possible.  There  is  no  time  to  lose, 
gentlemen.  He  may  be  trying  to  escape  even 
now." 

Without  another  word  he  turned  and  walked 
straight  toward  the  palms.  Not  another  man 
followed,  and  he  faced  the  unwelcome  guest 
alone.  Faced  is  the  right  word,  for  the  owner 
of  the  telltale  foot  had  taken  advantage  of 
their  momentary  absence  from  that  end  of  the 
porch  to  make  a  hurried  and  reckless  attempt 
to  leave  his  cramped  and  dangerous  hiding- 
place.  He  was  crowding  through  the  outer 
circle  of  huge  leaves  when  Quentin  swung  into 


FROM  THE  POTS  AND  PLANTS         99 

view.  The  light  from  the  window  was  full  in 
the  face  of  the  stranger,  white,  scared,  dogged. 

"Here  he  is!"  cried  Quentin,  leaping  for- 
ward.    "Come  on,  gentlemen!" 

With  a  frantic  plunge  the  trapped  stranger 
crashed  through  the  plants,  crying  hoarsely  in 
French  as  he  met  Quentin  in  the  open: 

"I  don't  want  to  kill  you!     Keep  off!" 

Quentin's  arm  shot  out  and  the  fellow  went 
tumbling  back  among  the  pots  and  plants. 
He  was  up  in  an  instant.  As  the  American 
leaped  upon  him  for  the  second  blow,  he  drove 
his  hand  sharply,  despairingly,  toward  that  big 
breast.  There  came  the  ripping  of  cloth,  the 
tearing  of  flesh,  and  something  hot  gushed 
over  Phil's  shoulder  and  arm.  His  own  blow 
landed,  but  not  squarely,  and,  as  he  stumbled 
forward,  his  lithe,  vicious  antagonist  sprang 
aside,  making  another  wild  but  ineffectual 
sweep  with  the  knife  he  held  in  his  right  hand. 
Before  Quentin  could  recover,  the  fellow  was 
dashing  straight  toward  the  petrified,  speech- 
less men  at  the  end  of  the  porch,  where  they 
had  been  joined  by  some  of  the  women. 

"Out  of  the  way!  Out  of  the  way!"  he 
shrieked,  brandishing  his  knife.  Through  the 
huddled  bunch  he  threw  himself,  uncere- 
moniously toppling  over  one   of  them.     The 


100  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

way  was  clear,  and  he  was  down  the  steps  like 
a  whirlwind.  It  was  all  over  in  an  instant's 
time,  but  before  the  witnesses  to  the  encounter 
could  catch  the  second  breath,  the  tall  form  of 
Philip  Quentin  was  flying  down  the  steps  in 
close  pursuit.  Out  into  the  Avenue  Louise 
they  raced,  the  fugitive  with  a  clear  lead, 

"Come  back,  Phil!"  cried  a  woman's  voice, 
and  he  knew  the  tone  because  of  the  thrill  it 
sent  to  his  heart. 

He  heard  others  running  behind  him,  and 
concluded  that  his  fellow  guests  had  regained 
their  wits  and  were  in  the  chase  with  him.  If 
the  pursued  heard  the  sudden,  convulsive  laugh 
of  the  man  behind  him  he  must  have  wondered 
greatly.  Phil  could  not  restrain  the  wild  desire 
to  laugh  when  he  pictured  the  sudden  and 
precipitous  halt  his  valiant  followers  would  be 
compelled  to  make  if  the  fugitive  should  decide 
to  stop  and  show  fight.  One  or  more  of  them 
would  doubtless  be  injured  in  the  impossible 
effort  to  run  backward  while  still  going  for- 
ward. 

Blood  was  streaming  down  his  arm  and  he 
was  beginning  to  feel  an  excruciating  pain. 
Pedestrians  were  few,  and  they  made  no  effort 
to  obstruct  the  flight  of  the  fugitive.  Instead, 
they  gave  him  a  wide  berth.     From  far  in  the 


FROM  THE  POTS  AND  PLANTS       101 

rear  came  hoarse  cries,  but  Quentin  was  utter- 
ing no  shout.  He  was  grinding  his  teeth 
because  the  fellow  had  worsted  him  in  the 
rather  vainglorious  encounter  on  the  porch,  and 
was  doing  all  in  his  power  to  catch  him  and 
make  things  even.  To  his  dismay  the  fellow 
was  gaining  on  him  and  he  was  losing  his  own 
strength.  Cursing  the  frightened  men  who 
allowed  the  thief  to  pass  on  unmolested  and 
then  joined  in  the  chase,  he  raced  panting 
onward.  The  flying  fugitive  suddenly  darted 
into  a  narrow,  dark  street,  fifty  feet  ahead  of 
his  pursuer,  and  the  latter  felt  that  he  had  lost 
him  completely.  There  was  no  sign  of  him 
when  Quentin  turned  into  the  cross  street;  he 
had  disappeared  as  if  absorbed  by  the  earth. 

For  a  few  minutes  Philip  and  the  mob — 
quite  large,  inquisitive  and  eager  by  this  time — 
searched  for  a  trace  of  the  man,  but  without 
avail.  The  count,  de  Cartier  and  the  Honor- 
able Mr.  Knowlton,  with  several  of  Mrs.  Garri- 
son's servants,  came  puffing  up  and,  to  his 
amazement  and  rage,  criticised  him  for  allow- 
ing the  man  to  escape.  They  argued  that  a 
concerted  attack  on  the  recess  amongst  the 
palms  would  have  overwhelmed  the  fellow  and 
he  would  now  be  in  the  hands  of  the  authorities 
instead  of  as  free  as  air.     Quentin  endured  the 


102  CASTLE  CRA NE YCRO  W 

expostulations  of  his  companions  and  the  fast- 
enlarging  mirth  of  the  crowd  for  a  few  mo- 
ments m  dumb  surprise.  Then  he  turned 
suddenly  to  retrace  his  steps  up  the  avenue, 
savagely  saying: 

"If  I  had  waited  till  you  screwed  up  nerve 
enough  to  make  a  combined  attack,  the  man 
would  not  have  been  obliged  to  take  this  long 
and  tiresome  run.  He  might  have  called  a  cab 
and  ridden  away  in  peace  and  contentment." 

A  laugh  of  derision  came  from  the  crowd 
and  the  two  Frenchmen  looked  insulted.  Mr. 
Knowlton  flushed  with  shame  and  hurried 
after  his  tall  countryman. 

"You  are  right,  Quentin,  you're  right,"  he 
wheezed.  "We  did  not  support  you,  and  we 
are  to  blame.  You  did  the  brave  and  proper 
thing,  and  we  stood  by  like  a  lot  of  noodles " 

"Well,  it's  all  over,  Knowlton,  and  we  all 
did  the  best  we  could,"  responded  Philip,  with 
intense  sarcasm  which  was  lost  on  Mr.  Knowl- 
ton. Just  then  a  sturdy  little  figure  bumped 
against  him  and  he  looked  down  as  the  new- 
comer grasped  his  arm  tightly. 

"Hello,  Turk!  It's  about  time  you  were 
showing  up.  Where  the  devil  have  you  been?" 
exclaimed  he,  wrathfully. 

"I'll  tell  y'  all  about  it  w'en  I  gits  me  tires 


FROM  THE  POTS  AND  PLANTS       103 

pumped  full  agin.  Come  on,  come  on;  it's 
private — strictly  private,  an'  nobody's  nex' 
but  me."  When  there  was  a  chance  to  talk 
without  being  overheard  by  the  three  discom- 
fited gentlemen  in  the  rear,  Turk  managed  to 
give  his  master  a  bit  of  surprising  news. 

"That  guy  was  Courant,  that's  who  he  w^as. 
He's  been  right  on  your  heels  since  yesterday, 
an'  I  just  gits  nex'  to  it.  He  follers  you  up  to 
th'  house  back  yonder  an'  there's  w'ere  I  loses 
him.  Seems  like  he  hung  aroun'  the  porch  er 
porticker,  er  whatever  it  is  over  here,  watchin' 
you  w'en  you  wuz  inside.  I  don't  know  his 
game,  but  he's  th'  guy.  An'  I  know  w'ere  he 
is  now." 

"The  dickens  you  do?  You  infernal  little 
scoundrel,  take  me  there  at  once.  Good  Lord, 
Turk,  I've  got  to  catch  him.  These  people 
will  laugh  at  me  for  a  month  if  I  don't.  Are 
you  sure  he  is  Courant?  How  do  you  know? 
Where  is  he?"  cried  Phil,  excited  and  impa- 
tient. 

"You  ain't  near  bein*  keen.  He  doubled  on 
you,  that's  w'at  he  done.  W'en  you  chased 
him  off  on  that  side  street  he  just  leaps  over 
th'  garden  wall  an'  back  he  comes  into  a  yard. 
I  comes  up,  late  as  usual,  just  in  time  t'  see 
him  calmly  prance  up  some  doorsteps  an'  ring 


104  CA  STLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

th'  bell.  Wile  th'  gang  an'  you  wuz  lookin' 
fer  him  in  th'  gutters  an'  waste  paper  boxes,  he 
Stan's  up  there  an'  grins  complackentl}'-.  Then 
th'  door  opens  an'  he  slides  in  like  a  fox." 

"Where  is  the  house?  We  must  search  it 
from  top  to  bottom." 

"Can't  do  that,  Mr.  Quentin.  How  are  you 
goin'  to  search  that  house  without  a  warrant? 
An'  w'at  are  you  goin'  to  find  w'en  you  do 
search  it?  He's  no  common  thief.  He's  in  a 
game  that  we  don't  know  nothin'  about,  an' 
he's  got  cards  up  his  sleeve  clear  to  th'  elbow. 
Th'  people  in  that  house  is  his  friends,  an'  he's 
safe,  so  w'at's  th'  use?  I've  got  th'  joint 
spotted  an'  he  don't  know  I  am  nex'.  It's  a 
point  in  our  favor.  There  wuz  a  woman  opened 
the  door,  so  she's  in  th'  game,  too.  Let's  lay 
low,  Mr.  Quentin,  an'  take  it  cool." 

"But  what  in  thunder  was  he  doing  behind 
those  palms?  That  wasn't  a  very  sensible  bit 
of  detective  work,  was  it?" 

"Most  detectives  is  asses.  He  was  hidin* 
there  just  to  earn  his  money.  To-morrow  he 
could  go  to  th'  juke  an'  tell  him  how  slick  he'd 
been  in  hearin'  w'at  you  said  to  th'  young 
lady  w'en  you  thought  nobody  was  listenin'. 
Was  he  hid  near  a  window?' 

"Just  below  one — almost  against  the  casing.' 


FROM  THE  POTS  AND  PLANTS        105 

"Easy  sailin'.  He  figgered  out  that  some 
time  durin'  th'  night  you  an'  her  would  set  in 
that  window  an'  there  you  are.  See?  But  I 
wonder  w'at  he'll  say  to  th'  juke  to-morrow?" 

"I  hate  to  give  this  job  up,"  growled  Phil. 
"But  I  must  get  back  to  the  hotel.  The  vil- 
lain cut  me  with  a  knife." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  front  of  the  Garri- 
son home,  and  in  an  undertone  he  bade  Turk 
walk  on  and  wait  for  him  at  the  corner  below. 

"Did  he  escape?"  cried  Dorothy  from  the 
steps. 

"He  gave  us  the  slip,  confound  him,  Dor- 
othy." 

"I'm  glad,  really  I  am.  What  could  we 
have  done  with  him  if  he  had  been  caught? 
But  are  you  not  coming  in?" 

"Oh,  not  to-night,  thank  you.  Can't  you 
have  some  one  bring  out  my  hat  and  coat?" 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  faint  and  sick,  and 
purposely  kept  the  bloody  arm  from  the  light. 

"You  shall  not  have  them  unless  you  come 
in  for  them.  Besides,  we  want  you  to  tell  us 
what  happened.  We  are  crazy  with  excite- 
ment. Madame  de  Cartier  fainted,  and 
mamma  is  almost  worried  to  death." 

"Are  you  not  coming  up,  I\Ir.  Quentin?" 
called  Mrs.  Garrison,  from  the  veranda. 


106  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"You  must  come  in,"  said  de  Cartier,  com- 
ing up  at  that  moment  with  the  count  and  Mr. 
Knowlton. 

"Really,  I  must  go  to  the  hotel.  I  am  a 
little  faint  after  that  wretched  run.  Let  me 
go,  please;  don't  insist  on  my  coming  in,"  he 
said. 

"Mon  dieu!"  exclaimed  the  count.  "It  is 
blood.  Monsieur!     You  are  hurt!" 

"Oh,  not  in  the  least — merely  a " 

"Phil!"  cried  Dorothy,  standing  in  front  of 
him,  her  wide  eyes  looking  intently  into  his. 
"Are  you  hurt?    Tell  me!" 

"Just  a  little  cut  in  the  arm  or  shoulder,  I 
think.  Doesn't  amount  to  anything,  I  as- 
sure  " 

"Come  in  the  house  at  once,  Philip  Quen- 
tin!"  she  exclaimed.  "Mr.  Knowlton,  will  you 
ask  Franz  to  telephone  for  Dr.  Berier?" 
Then  she  saw  the  blood-stained  hand  and 
shuddered,  turning  her  face  away.  "Oh, 
Phil!"  she  whispered. 

"That  pays  for  this  cut  and  more,  if  neces- 
sary," he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  walked  at 
her  side  up  the  steps. 

"Lean  on  me,  Phil,"  she  said.  "You  must 
be  faint."  He  laughed  merrily,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled  with  something  not  akin  to  pain. 


FROM  THE  POTS  AND  PLANTS       107 

Dr.  Berier  came  and  closed  the  gash  in  his 
shoulder.  An  hour  later  he  came  downstairs, 
to  find  Mrs.  Garrison  and  Dorothy  alone. 

"You  were  very  brave,  Mr.  Quentin,  but 
very  foolhardy,"  said  Mrs.  Garrison.  "I  hope 
from  my  heart  the  wound  will  give  you  little 
trouble." 

His  good  right  hand  closed  over  hers  for  an 
instant  and  then  clasped  Dorothy's  warmly, 
lingeringly. 

"You  must  let  us  hear  from  you  to-morrow," 
said  she,  softly. 

"Expect  me  to  fetch  the  message  in  person," 
said  he,  and  he  was  off  down  the  steps.  He 
did  not  look  back,  or  he  might  have  seen  her 
standing  on  the  veranda,  her  eyes  following 
him  till  he  was  joined  by  another  man  at  the 
corner  below. 


XII 

HE  CLAIMED  A   DAY 

The  strange  experience  of  the  evening 
brought  Quentin  sharply  to  a  sense  of  realiza- 
tion. It  proved  to  him  that  he  was  feared,  else 
why  the  unusual  method  of  campaign?  To 
what  extent  the  conspirators  would  carry  their 
seemingly  unnecessary  warfare  he  was  now,  for 
the  first  time,  able  to  form  some  sort  of  opin- 
ion. The  remarkable  boldness  of  the  spy  at 
the  Garrison  home  left  room  for  considerable 
speculation  as  to  his  motive.  What  was  his 
design  and  what  would  have  been  the  ending  to 
his  sinister  vigil?  Before  Quentin  slept  that 
night  he  came  to  the  drowsy  conclusion  that 
luck  had  really  been  with  him,  despite  his 
wound  and  Courant's  escape,  and  that  the 
sudden  exposure  of  the  spy  destroyed  the 
foundation  for  an  important  move  in  the 
powderless  conflict. 

In  the  morning  his  shoulder  was  so  sore  that 

the  surgeon   informed   him   he  could   not  use 

the  arm  for  several  days.     Turk  philosophically 

bore   the  brunt  of  his  master's   ire.      Like  a 

108 


HE  CLAIMED  A  DAY  109 

little  Napoleon  he  endured  the  savage  assaults 
from  Quentin's  vocal  batteries,  taking  them  as 
lamentations  instead  of  imprecations.  The 
morning  newspapers  mentioned  the  attempt  to 
rob  Mrs.  Garrison's  house  and  soundly  de- 
plored the  unstrategic  and  ill-advised  attempt 
of  "an  American  named  Canton"  to  capture 
the  desperado.  "The  police  department  is 
severe  in  its  criticism  of  the  childish  act  which 
allowed  the  wretch  to  escape  detection  without 
leaving  the  faintest  clew  behind.  Officers  were 
close  at  hand,  and  the  slightest  warning  would 
have  had  them  at  the  Garrison  home.  The 
capture  of  this  man  would  have  meant  much  to 
the  department,  as  he  is  undoubtedly  one  of 
the  diamond  robbers  who  are  working  havoc  in 
Brussels  at  this  time.  He  was,  it  is  stated 
positively  by  the  police,  not  alone  in  his  opera- 
tions last  night.  His  duty,  it  is  believed,  was 
to  obtain  the  lay  of  the  land  and  to  give  the 
signal  at  the  proper  moment  for  a  careful  and 
systematic  raid  of  the  wealthy  woman's  house. 
The  police  now  fear  that  the  robbers,  whose 
daring  exploits  have  shocked  and  alarmed  all 
Brussels,  are  on  their  guard  and  a  well-defined 
plan  to  effect  their  capture  is  ruined.  A 
prominent  attache  of  the  department  is  of  the 
opinion  that  an  attempt  was  to  have  been  made 


110  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

by  the  band  to  relieve  all  of  Mrs.  Garrison's 
guests  of  their  jewels  in  a  sensational  game  of 
'stand  and  deliver.'  " 

"The  miserable  asses!"  exploded  Phil,  when 
he  read  the  foregoing.  "That  is  the  worst 
rot  I  ever  read.  This  police  department 
couldn't  catch  a  thief  if  he  were  tied  to  a  tree. 
Turk,  if  they  were  so  near  at  hand  why  the 
devil  didn't  they  get  into  the  chase  with  me 
and  run  that  fellow  down?" 

"Th'  chances  are  they  was  in  th'  chase,  Mr. 
Quentin,  but  they  didn't  get  th'  proper  direc- 
tion. They  thought  he  was  bein'  chased  th' 
other  way,  an'  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  some 
of  'em  run  five  or  six  miles  before  they 
stopped  t'  reflect." 

"If  there  is  a  gang  of  diamond  robbers  or 
comic  opera  bandits  in  this  city  I'll  bet  my 
hand  they  could  steal  the  sidewalks  without 
being  detected,  much  less  captured.  A  scheme 
to  rob  all  of  Mrs.  Garrison's  guests!  The 
asses!" 

"Don't  "get  excited,  sir.  You'll  burst  a 
blood  vessel,  an'  that's  a  good  sight  worse 
than  a  cut,"  cautioned  Turk. 

"Turk,  in  all  your  burglarious  years,  did  you 
ever  go  about  robbing  a  house  in  that  manner?  ' 

"Not  in  a  million  years." 


HE  CLAIMED  A  DAY  111 

"Well,  what  are  we  to  do  next?"  demanded 
Quentin,  reflectively,  ignoring  his  former 
question  and  Turk's  specific  answer.  "Shall 
we  give  the  police  all  the  information  we  have 
and  land  Mr.  Courant  in  jail?" 

"This  is  our  game,  sir,  not  th'  police's.  For 
th'  Lord's  sake,  don't  give  anything  up  to  th' 
cops.  They'll  raise  particular  thunder  in  their 
sleep,  an'  we  gets  th'  rough  ha!  ha!  from  our 
frien's,  th'  enemy.  We  pipes  this  little  game 
ourself,  an'  we  wins,  too,  if  we  succeed  in 
keepin'  th'  police  from  gettin'  nex'  to  any- 
thing they'd  mistake  for  a  clue." 

Phil  thought  long  and  hard  before  sitting 
down  at  noon  to  write  to  Dickey  Savage.  He 
disliked  calling  for  help  in  the  contest,  but 
with  a  bandaged  arm  and  the  odds  against 
him,  he  finally  resolved  that  he  needed  the 
young  New  Yorker  at  his  side.  Dickey  was 
deliberation  itself,  and  he  was  brave  and  loyal. 
So  the  afternoon's  post  carried  a  letter  to  Sav- 
age, who  was  still  in  London,  asking  him  to 
come  to  Brussels  at  once,  if  he  could  do  so 
conveniently.  The  same  post  carried  a  letter 
to  Lord  Bob,  and  in  it  the  writer  admitted  that 
he  might  need  reinforcements  before  the  cam- 
paign closed.  He  also  inclosed  the  clipping 
from   the  newspaper,  but  added  a  choice  and 


112  CA  STLE  CRA  NEYCRO  W 

caustic  opinion  of  the  efficiency  of  the  Brussels 
police.  He  did  not  allude  specifically  to 
Courant,  the  duke,  or  to  the  queer  beginning  of 
the  prince's  campaign. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Garrison  sent  to 
inquire  as  to  his  wound.  In  reply  he  calmly 
prepared  for  an  appearance  in  person.  Turk 
accompanied  him,  about  four  o'clock,  in  a  cab 
to  the  house  in  Avenue  Louise.  There  were 
guests,  and  Phil  was  forced  to  endure  a  rather 
effusive  series  of  feminine  exclamations  and 
several  polite  expressions  from  men  who  sin- 
cerely believed  they  could  have  done  better 
had  they  been  in  his  place.  Mrs.  Garrison 
was  a  trifle  distant  at  first,  but  as  she  saw 
Quentin  elevated  to  the  pedestal  of  a  god  for 
feminine  worship  she  thawed  diplomatically, 
and,  with  rare  tact,  assumed  a  sort  of  pro- 
prietorship. Dorothy  remained  in  the  back- 
ground, but  he  caught  anxious  glances  at  his 
arm,  and,  once  or  twice,  a  serious  contempla- 
tion of  his  half-turned  face. 

"I'll  let  her  think  the  fellow  was  one  of  the 
diamond  robbers  for  the  present,"  thought  he. 
"She  wouldn't  believe  me  if  I  told  her  he  was 
in  the  employ  of  the  prince,  and  the  chances 
are  she'd  ruin  everything  by  writing  to  him 
about  it." 


HE  CLAIMED  A  DAY  113 

When  at  last  he  found  the  opportunity  to 
speak  with  her  alone  he  asked  how  she  had 
slept. 

"Not  at  all,  not  a  wink,  not  a  blink.  I 
imagined  I  heard  robbers  in  every  part  of  the 
house.  Are  you  speaking  the  truth  when  you 
tell  all  these  people  it  is  a  mere  scratch?  I  am 
sure  it  is  much  worse,  and  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  the  truth,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

"I've  had  deeper  cuts  that  didn't  bleed  a 
drop,"  said  he.  "If  you  must  have  the  truth, 
Dorothy,  I'll  confess  the  fellow  gave  me  a 
rather  nasty  slash,  and  I  don't  blame  him.  He 
had  to  do  it,  and  he's  just  as  lucky  as  I  am, 
perhaps,  that  it  was  no  worse.  I  wish  to  com- 
pliment your  Brussels  police,  too,  on  being 
veritable  bloodhounds.  I  observed  as  I  came 
in  that  they  have  at  last  scented  the  blood  on 
the  pavement  in  front  of  the  house  and  have 
washed  away  the  stain  fairly  well." 

"Wasn't  the  story  in  the  morning  paper 
ridiculous?  You  were  very  brave.  I  almost 
cried  when  I  sav/  how  the  horrid  detectives 
criticised  you." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  because  I 
was  afraid  you'd  think  like  the  rest — that  I  was 
a  blundering  idiot." 

"You  did  not  fear  anything  of  the  kind.     Do 


114  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

you  really  think  he  was  one  of  those  awful 
diamond  robbers  who  are  terrorizing  the  town? 
I  could  not  sleep  another  wink  if  I  thought  so. 
Why,  last  spring  a  rich  merchant  and  his  wife 
were  drugged  in  one  of  the  cafes,  taken  by 
carriage  to  Watermael,  where  they  were 
stripped  of  their  valuables  and  left  by  the 
roadside." 

"Did  you  see  an  account  of  the  affair  in  your 
morning  paper?" 

"Yes — there  were  columns  about  it." 

"Then  I  think  eight-tenths  of  the  crime  was 
committed  at  a  city  editor's  desk.  It's  my 
opinion  these  diamond  thieves  are  a  set  of 
ordinary  pickpockets  and  petty  porch  climbers. 
A  couple  of  New  York  policemen  could  catch 
the  whole  lot  in  a  week." 

"But,  really,  Phil,  they  are  very  bold  and 
they  are  not  at  all  ordinary.  You  don't  know 
how  thankful  we  are  that  this  one  was  discov- 
ered before  he  got  into  the  house.  Didn't  he 
have  a  knife?  Well,  wasn't  it  to  kill  us  with 
if  we  made  an  outcry?"  She  was  nervous  and 
excited,  and  he  had  it  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
to  allay  her  fears  by  telling  what  he  thought 
to  be  the  true. object  of  the  man's  visit. 

"Well,  no  matter  what  he  intended  to  do, 
he  didn't  do  it,  and  he'll  never  come  back  to 


HE  CLAIMED  A  DAY  115 

try    it    again.       He    will    steer   clear   of    this 
house,'^  he  said,  reassuringly 

A  week,  two  weeks  went  by  without  a  change 
in  the  situation.  Dickey  Savage  replied  that  he 
would  come  to  Brussels  as  soon  as  his  heart 
trouble  would  permit  him  to  leave  London, 
and  that  would  probably  be  about  the  twentieth 
of  August.  In  parentheses  he  said  he  hoped 
to  be  out  of  danger  by  that  time.  The  duke 
was  persistent  in  his  friendliness,  and  Courant 
had,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  disappeared 
completely.  Prinze  Ugo  was  expected  daily, 
and  Mrs.  Garrison  was  beginning  to  breathe 
easily  again.  The  police  had  given  up  the 
effort  to  find  the  Garrison  robber,  and  Turk 
had  learned  everything  that  was  to  be  known 
concerning  the  house  in  which  Courant  found 
shelter  after  eluding  his  pursuers  on  the  night 
of  the  affra}'.  Quentin's  shoulder  was  almost 
entirely  healed,  and  he  was  beginning  to  feel 
himself  again.  The  two  weeks  had  found  him 
a  constant  and  persistent  visitor  at  Miss  Gar- 
rison's home,  but  he  was  compelled  to  admit 
that  he  had  made  no  progress  in  his  crusade 
against  her  heart.  She  baffled  him  at  every 
turn,  and  he  was  beginning  to  lose  his  confi- 
dent hopes.     At  no  time  during  their  tete-a- 


116  CASTLE  CRA NEYCRO  W 

tetes,  their  walks,  their  drives,  their  visits  to 
the  art  galleries,  did  she  give  him  the  slightest 
ground  for  encouragement.  And,  to  further 
disturb  his  sense  of  contentment,  she  was  de- 
lighted— positively  delighted — over  the  coming 
of  Prince  Ugo.  For  a  week  she  had  talked  of 
little  save  the  day  when  he  was  to  arrive. 
Quentin  endured  these  rapturous  assaults 
nobly,  but  he  was  slowly  beginning  to  realize 
that  they  were  battering  down  the  only  de- 
fense he  had — the  inward  belief  that  she  cared 
for  him  in  spite  of  all. 

Frequently  he  met  the  Duke  Laselli  at  the 
Garrisons'.  He  also  saw  a  great  deal  of  the 
de  Cartiers  and  Mile.  Gaudelet.  When,  one 
day,  he  boldly  intimated  to  Dorothy  that  de 
Cartier  was  in  love  with  Louise  and  she  with 
him,  that  young  lady  essayed  to  look  shocked 
and  displeased,  but  he  was  sure  he  saw  a  quick 
gleam  of  satisfaction  in  her  eyes.  And  he  was 
positive  the  catch  in  her  breath  was  not  so 
much  of  horror  as  it  was  of  joy.  Mrs.  Garri- 
son did  all  in  her  power  to  bring  him  and  the 
pretty  French  girl  together,  and  her  insistence 
amused  him. 

One  day  her  plans,  if  she  had  any,  went 
racing  skyward,  and  she,  as  well  as  all  Brussels 
society,    was    stunned    by   the   news   that    de 


I 

HE  CLAIMED  A  DA  V  11 

Cartier  had  deserted  his  wife  to  elope  with  the 
fair  Gaudelet!  When  Quentin  laconically,  per- 
haps maliciously,  observed  that  he  had  long 
suspected  the  nature  of  their  regard  for  one 
another,  Mrs.  Garrison  gave  him  a  withering 
look  and  subsided  into  a  chilling  unresponsive- 
ness that  boded  ill  for  the  perceiving  young 
man.  The  inconsiderate  transgression  of  de 
Cartier  and  the  unkindness  of  the  Gaudelet 
upset  her  plans  cruelly,  and  she  found  that  she 
had  wasted  time  irreparably  in  trying  to  bring 
the  meddling  American  to  the  feet  of  the 
French  woman.  Quentin  revelled  in  her  dis- 
comfiture, and  Dorothy  in  secret  enjoyed  the 
unexpected  turn  of  affairs. 

She  had  seen  through  her  mother's  design, 
and  she  had  known  all  along  how  ineffectual  it 
would  prove  in  the  end.  Philip  puzzled  her 
and  piqued  her  more  than  she  cared  to  admit. 
That  she  did  not  care  for  him,  except  as  a 
friend,  she  was  positive,  but  that  he  should 
persistently  betray  signs  of  nothing  more  than 
the  most  ordinary  friendship  was  far  from 
pleasing  to  her  vanity.  The  truth  is,  she  had 
expected  him  to  go  on  his  knees  to  her,  an 
event  which  would  have  simplified  matters  ex- 
ceedingly. It  would  have  given  her  the  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  him  plainly  she  could  be  no  more 


Lis  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

than  a  friend,  and  it  would  have  served  to  alter 
his  course  in  what  she  believed  to  be  a  stub- 
born love  chase.  But  he  had  disappointed 
her;  he  had  been  the  amusing  companion,  the 
ready  friend,  the  same  sunny  spirit,  and  she 
was  perplexed  to  observe  that  he  gave  forth  no 
indication  of  hoping  or  even  desiring  to  be 
more.  She  could  not,  of  course,  know  that 
this  apparently  indifferent  young  gentleman 
was  wiser,  far  wiser,  than  the  rest  of  his  kind. 
He  saw  the  folly  of  a  rash,  hasty  leap  in  the 
dark,  and  bided  his  time  like  the  cunning  gen- 
eral who  from  afar  sees  the  hopelessness  of  an 
attack  against  a  strong  and  watchful  adversary, 
and  waits  for  the  inevitable  hour  when  the 
vigil  is  relaxed. 

There  was  no  denying  the  fact  that  with  all 
his  confidence  his  colors  were  sinking,  while 
hers  remained  as  gallantly  fluttering  as  when 
the  struggle  began.  He  was  becoming  con- 
fused and  nervous;  a  feeling  of  impotence 
began  slyly,  devilishly  to  assail  him,  and  he 
frequently  found  himself  far  out  at  sea.  The 
strange  inactivity  of  the  prince's  cohorts,  the 
significant  friendliness  of  the  duke,  the  ever- 
lasting fear  that  a  sudden  move  might  catch 
him  unawares  began  to  tell  on  his  peace  of 
mind.     Both  he  and  Turk  watched   like  cats 


HE  CLAIMED  A  DAY  119 

for  the  slightest  move  that  might  betray  the 
intentions  of  the  foe,  but  there  was  nothing, 
absolutely  nothing.  The  house  in  which  Cou- 
rant  found  safety  was  watched,  but  it  gave  forth 
no  secrets.  The  duke's  every  movement  ap- 
peared to  be  as  open,  as  fair,  as  unsuspicious 
as  man's  could  be,  and  yet  there  was  ever  pres- 
ent the  feeling  that  some  day  something  would 
snap  and  a  crisis  would  rush  upon  them.  Late 
one  afternoon  he  drove  up  to  the  house  in 
Avenue  Louise,  and  when  Dorothy  came 
downstairs  for  the  drive  her  face  was  beam- 
ing. 

"Ugo  comes  to-morrow,"  she  said,  as  they 
crossed  to  the  carriage. 

"Which  means  that  I  am  to  be  relegated  to 
the  dark,"  he  said,  dolefully. 

"Oh,  no!  Ugo  likes  you  and  I  like  you,  you 
know.  Why,  are  we  not  to  be  the  same  good 
friends  as  now?"  she  asked,  suddenly,  with  a 
pretty  show  of  surprise. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  looking  straight 
ahead.  They  were  driving  rapidly  toward  the 
Bois  de  la  Cambre.  "But,  of  course,  I'll  not 
rob  the  prince  of  moments  that  belong  to  him 
by  right  of  conquest.  You  may  expect  to  see 
me  driving  disconsolately  along  the  avenue- 
alone." 


120  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Mr.  Savage  will  be  here,"  she  said,  sweetly 
enjoying  his  first  show  of  misery. 

"But  he's  in  love,  and  he'll  not  be  thinking 
^of  me.     I'm  the  onlj^  one  in  all  Christendom,  it 
seems  to  me,  who  is  not   in  love  with   some- 
body, and  it's  an  awful  hardship." 

"You  will  fall  really  in  love  some  day,  never 
fear,"  she  volunteered,  after  a  somewhat  con- 
vulsive twist  of  the  head  in  his  direction. 

"Unquestionably,"  he  said,  "and  I  shall  be 
just  as  happy  and  as  foolish  as  the  rest  of  you, 
I  presume." 

"I  should  enjoy  seeing  you  really  and  truly 
in  love  with  some  girl.  It  would  be  so  enter- 
taining." 

"A  perfect  comedy,  I  am  sure.  I  must  say, 
however,  that  I'd  feel  sorry  for  the  girl  I  loved 
if  she  didn't  happen  to  love  me," 

"And  why,  pray?" 

"Because,"  he  said,  turning  abruptly  and 
looking  straight  into  her  eyes,  "she'd  have  the 
trouble  and  distinction  of  surrendering  in  the 
end." 

"You  vain,  conceited  thing!"  she  exclaimed, 
a  trifle  disconcerted.  "You  overestimate  your 
power." 

"Do  you  think  I  overestimate  it?"  he  de- 
manded, quickly. 


HE  CLAIMED  A  DAY  121 

"I  don  t  —  don't  know.  How  should  1 
know?"  she  cried,  in  complete  rout.  In  deep 
chagrin  she  realized  that  he  had  driven  her 
sharply  into  unaccountable  confusion,  and 
that  her  wits  were  scattering-  hopelessly  at 
the  very  moment  when  she  needed  them 
most. 

"Then  why  do  you  say  I  overestimate  it?" 
he  asked,  relentlessly. 

"Because  you  ao,"  she  exclaimed,  at  bay. 

"xVre  you  a  competent  judge?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  grasping 
for  time. 

"I  mean,  have  you  the  right  to  question  my 
power,  as  you  call  it?  Have  I  attempted  to 
exert  it  over  you?" 

"You  are  talking  nonsense,  Phil,"  she  said, 
spiritedly. 

"I  said  I'd  feel  sorry  for  the  girl  if  she  didu't 
happen  to  love  me,  you  know.  Well,  I 
couldn't  force  her  to  love  me  if  she  didn't  love 
me,  could  I?" 

"Certainly  not.  That  is  what  I  meant,"  she 
cried,  immensely  relieved. 

"But  my  point  is  that  she  might  love  me 
without  knowing  it  and  would  simply  have  ta 
be  brought  to  the  realization." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "that  is  different." 


122  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"You  take  back  what  you  said,  then?"  he 
asked,  maliciously. 

"If  she  loved  you  and  did  not  know  it,  she'd 
be  a  fool  and  you  could  exert  any  kind  of 
power  over  her.  You  see,  we  didn't  quite 
understand  each  other,  did  we?" 

"That  is  for  you  to  say,"  he  said,  smiling 
significantly.  "I  think  I  understand  per- 
fectly." 

By  this  time  they  were  opposite  the  Rue 
Lesbroussart,  and  he  drove  toward  the  Place 
Ste.  Croix.  As  they  made  the  turn  she  gave  a 
start  and  peered  excitedly  up  the  Avenue 
Louise,  first  in  front  of  her  companion,  then 
behind. 

"Oh,  Phil,  there  is  Ugo!"  she  cried,  clasping 
his  arm.  "See!  In  the  trap,  coming  toward 
us."  He  looked  quickly,  but  the  trees  and 
houses  now  hid  the  other  trap  from  view. 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  he?" 

"Oh,  I  am  positive.  He  has  come  to  sur- 
prise me.  Is  there  no  way  we  can  reach  the 
house  first?  By  the  rear — anyway,"  she  cried, 
excitedly.  Her  face  was  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
were  sparkling, 

"Was  he  alone?"  asked  he,  his  jaw  setting 
suddenly. 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.     We  must 


HE  CLAIMED  A  DAY  123 

hurry  home.  Turn  back,  Phil;  we  may  be 
able  to  overtake  him  on  the  avenue." 

"I  wanted  to  take  you  to  the  Park,  Dor- 
othy." 

"Well?" 

"That's  all,"  he  went  on,  calmly.  "The 
prince  can  leave  his  card  and  call  later  in  the — 
well,  this  evening." 

"What — you  don't  mean — Philip  Quentin, 
take  me  home  instantly,"  she  blazed. 

"Not  for  all  the  princes  in  the  universe,"  he 
said.  "This  is  my  afternoon,  and  I  will  not 
give  up  a  minute  of  it." 

"But  I  command,  sir!" 

"And  I  refuse  to  obey." 

"Oh — oh,  this  is  outrageous "  she  began, 

frantically. 

Suddenly  his  gloved  left  hand  dropped  from 
the  reins  and  closed  over  one  of  hers.  The 
feverish  clasp  and  the  command  in  his  eyes  com- 
pelled her  to  look  up  into  his  face  quickly. 
There  she  saw  the  look  she  feared,  admired, 
deserved. 

"There  was  a  time  when  you  wanted  to  be 
with  me  and  with  no  other.  I  have  not  for- 
gotten those  days,  nor  have  you.  They  were 
the  sweetest  days  of  your  life  and  of  mine.  It 
is  no  age  since  I  held  this  hand  in  mine,  and 


124  CASTLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

you  would  have  gone  to  the  end  of  the  world 
with  me.  It  is  no  age  since  you  kissed  me  and 
called  me  a  king.  It  is  no  age  since  you 
looked  into  my  eyes  with  an  expression  far 
different  from  the  one  you  now  have.  You 
remember,  you  remember,  Dorothy." 

She  was  too  surprised  to  answer,  too  over- 
come by  the  suddenness  of  his  assault  to  resist. 
The  power  she  had  undertaken  to  estimate  was 
in  his  eyes,  strong,  plain,  relentless. 

"And  because  you  remember  I  can  see  the 
hardness  going  from  your  eyes,  the  tenderness 
replacing  it.  The  flush  in  your  cheek  is  not 
so  much  of  anger  as  it  was,  your  heart  is  not 
beating  in  rebellion  as  it  was,  and  all  because 
you  cannot  forget — you  will  not  forget." 

"This  is  madness,"  she  cried,  shivering  as 
with  a  mighty  chill. 

"Madness  it  may  be,  Dorothy,  but — well, 
because  we  have  not  forgotten  the  days  when 
we  were  sweethearts,  I  am  claiming  this  day 
of  you  and  you  must  give  it  to  me  for  the  same 
reason.  You  must  say  to  me  that  you  give  it 
willingly,"  he  half  whispered,  intensely.  She 
could  only  look  helplessly  into  his  eyes. 

From  the  rumble  Turk  saw  nothing,  neither 
did  he  hear. 


XIII 

SOME  UGLY  LOOKING  MEN 

Prince  Ugo  Ravorelli  was  not,  that  day,  the 
only  one  whose  coming  to  Brussels  was  of 
interest  to  Quentin.  Dickey  Savage  came  in 
from  Ostend  and  was  waiting  at  the  Bellevue 
when  he  walked  in  soon  after  six  o'clock.  Mr, 
Savage  found  a  warm  welcome  from  the  tall 
young  man  who  had  boldly  confiscated  several 
hours  that  belonged  properly  to  the  noble 
bridegroom,  and  it  was  not  long  until,  dinner 
over,  he  was  lolling  back  in  a  chair  in  Quen- 
tin's  room,  his  feet  cocked  on  the  window  sill, 
listening  with  a  fair  and  increasing  show  of 
interest  to  the  confidences  his  friend  was  pour- 
ing forth. 

"So  you  deliberately  drove  off  and  left  the 
prince,  eh?  And  she  didn't  sulk  or  call  you  a 
nasty,  horrid  beast?  I  don't  know  what  the 
devil  you  want  me  here  for  if  you've  got  such 
a  start  as  that.  Seems  to  me  I'll  be  in  the 
way,  more  or  less,"  said  Dickey,  when  the  story 
reached  a  point  where,  to  him,  finis  was  the 
only  appropriate  word. 

125 


126  CA  STLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

"That's  the  deuce  of  it,  Dickey,  I  can't  say 
that  I've  got  a  safe  start  at  all,  even  with  her, 
and  I've  certainly  got  some  distance  to  go 
before  I  can  put  the  prince  out  of  the  running. 
You  may  think  this  is  a  nice,  easy,  straight- 
away race,  but  it  isn't.  It's  going  to  be  a 
steeplechase,  and  I  don't  know  the  course. 
I'm  looking  for  a  wide  ditch  at  any  turn,  and  I 
may  get  a  nasty  fall.  You  see,  I've  some 
chance  of  getting  my  neck  broken  before  I  get 
to  the  stretch." 

"And  some  noted  genius  will  be  grinding 
out  that  Lohengrin  two-step  just  about  the 
time  you  get  within  hearing  distance,  too. 
You  won't  be  two-stepping  down  the  aisle  at 
St.  Gudule,  but  you'll  agree  that  it's  a  very 
pretty  party.  That  will  be  all,  my  boy — really 
all.  I  don't  want  to  discourage  you,  and  I'm 
willing  to  stay  by  you  till  that  well-known 
place  freezes  over,  but  I  think  an  ocean  voy- 
age would  be  very  good  for  you  if  you  can 
arrange  to  start  to-morrow." 

"If  you're  going  into  this  thing  with  that  sort 
of  spirit,  you'  11  be  a  dead  weight  and  I'  11  be  left 
at  the  post,"  said  Quentin,  ruefully. 

"Was  the  prince  at  the  house  when  you  re- 
turned from  the  drive?" 

"No;  and  Mrs.  Garrison  almost  glared  a  hole 


SOME  UGLY -LOOKING  MEN  127 

through  me.  There  were  icicles  on  every  word 
when  she  told  poor  Dorothy  he  had  been  there 
and  would  return  this  evening." 

"Was  she  satisfied  to  finish  the  drive  with 
you  after  she  had  seen  the  prince?"  Quentin 
had  not  told  him  of  the  conversation  which 
followed  her  demand  to  be  taken  home. 

"She  was  very  sensible  about  it,"  he  ad- 
mitted, carefully.  "You  see,  she  had  an 
engagement  with  me,  and  as  a  lady  she  could 
not  well  break  it.  We  got  along  very  nicely, 
all  things  considered,  but  I'm  afraid  she  won't 
go  out  again  with  me." 

"She  won't  slam  the  door  in  your  face  if  you 
go  to  the  house,  will  she?" 

"Hardly,"  said  the  other,  smiling.  "She 
has  asked  me  to  come.  The  prince  likes  me, 
it  seems." 

"But  he  likes  to  be  alone  with  her,  I  should 
say.  Well,  don't  interfere  when  he  is  there. 
My  boy,  give  him  a  chance,"  said  Dickey, 
with  a  twinkle. 

The  duke  headed  off  the  two  Americans  as 
they  left  the  hotel  half  an  hour  later.  He  was 
evidently  watching  for  them,  and  his  purpose 
was  clear.  It  was  his  duty  to  prevent  Quentin 
from  going  to  the  Garrison  home,  if  possible. 
After  shaking  hands  with   Savage,  the   little 


i 28  CASTLE  CHA NE YCRO  W 

man  suggested  a  visit  to  a  dance  house  in  the 
lower  end,  promising  an  evening  of  rare  sport. 
He  and  Count  Sallaconi,  who  came  up  from 
Paris  with  the  prince,  had  planned  a  little 
excursion  into  unusual  haunts,  and  he  hoped 
the  Americans  had  a  few  dull  hours  that 
needed  brightening.  Phil  savagely  admitted 
to  himself  that  he  anticipated  a  good  many 
dull  hours,  but  they  could  not  be  banished  by 
the  vulgarity  of  a  dance  hall.  The  long,  bony, 
fierce-mustached  count  came  up  at  this  moment 
and  joined  in  imploring  the  young  men  to  go 
with  them  to  the  "gayest  place  in  all  Brussels." 

"Let's  go,  Phil,  just  to  see  how  much  worse 
our  New  York  places  are  than  theirs,"  said 
Dickey. 

"But  I  have  a — er — sort  of  an  engagement," 
remonstrated  Quentin,  reluctantly.  The  duke 
gave  him  a  sharp  look. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  said,  laughing  easily. 
"We  will  not  permit  the  dancing  girls  to  harm 
you." 

"He's  not  afraid  of  girls,"  interposed  Dickey. 
"Girls  are  his  long  suit.  You  didn't  tell  me 
you  had  an  engagement?"  Quentin  gave  him 
a  withering  look. 

"I  have  one,  just  the  same,"  he  said, 
harshly. 


SOME  UGLY-LOOKING  MEN  129 

"You  will  not  accompany  us,  then?"'  said  the 
count,  the  line  between  his  eyebrows  growing 
deeper. 

"I  have  to  thank  you,  gentlemen,  and  to 
plead  a  previous  engagement.  May  we  not 
go  some  other  night?" 

"I  am  afraid  we  shall  not  again  be  in  the 
same  mood  for  pleasure,"  said  the  duke,  shift- 
ing his  eyes  nervously.  "The  count  and  I 
have  but  little  time  to  give  to  frivolity.  We 
are  disappointed  that  you  will  not  join  us  on 
this  one  night  of  frolic." 

"I  regret  it  exceedingly,  but  if  you  knew 
what  I  have  to  do  to-night  you  would  not 
insist,"  said  Phil,  purposely  throwing  a  cloak 
of  mystery  about  his  intentions  for  the  mere 
satisfaction  of  arousing  their  curiosity. 

"Very  well,  jncs  Amcricaiiis ;  we  will  not 
implore  you  longer,"  responded  the  count, 
carelessly.  "May  your  evening  be  as  pleasant 
as  ours."  The  two  Italians  bowed  deeply, 
linked  arms  and  strolled  away, 

"Say,  those  fellows  know  you  haven't  an 
engagement,"  exclaimed  Savage,  wrathfully. 
"What  sort  of  an  ass  are  j^ou?" 

"See  here,  Dickey,  you've  still  got  some- 
thing to  learn  in  this  world.  Don't  imagine 
you  know  everything.     You  don't,  you  know. 


130  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  walk  into  one  of 
their  traps  with  my  eyes  open?" 

"Traps?  You  don't  mean  to  say  this  dance 
hall  business  is  a  trap?"  exclaimed  Dickey,  his 
eyes  opening  wide  with  an  interest  entirely 
foreign  to  his  placid  nature. 

"I  don't  know,  and  that's  why  I  am  keeping 
out  of  it.  Now,  let's  take  our  walk,  a  nice 
cool  drink  or  two  and  go  to  bed  where  we  can 
dream  about  what  might  have  happened  to  us 
at  the  dance  hall." 

"Where  does  she  live?"  asked  Savage,  as 
they  left  the  rotunda. 

"Avenue  Louise,"   was  the  laconic  answer. 

"Why  don't  you  say  Belgium  or  Europe,  if 
you're  bound  to  be  explicit,"  growled  Dickey. 

A  dapper-looking  young  man  came  from  the 
hotel  a  few  paces  behind  them  and  followed, 
swinging  his  light  cane  leisurely.  Across  the 
place,  in  the  shadow  of  a  tall  building,  the  two 
Italian  noblemen  saw  the  Americans  depart, 
noting  the  direction  they  took.  It  was  toward 
the  Avenue  Louise.  A  smile  of  satisfaction 
came  to  their  faces  when  the  dapper  stranger 
made  his  appearance.  A  few  moments  later 
they  were  speeding  in  a  cab  toward  the  avenue. 

"That  is  her  house,"  said  Phil,  later  on,  as 
the  two  strolled  slowly  down  the  Avenue  Louise, 


SOME  UGLY-LOOKING  MEN  131 

They  were  across  the  street  from  the  Garrison 
home,  and  the  shadowy. trees  hid  them.  The 
tall  lover  knew,  however,  that  the  Italian  was 
with  her  and  that  his  willfulness  of  the  after- 
noon had  availed  him  naught.  Nor  could  he 
recall  a  single  atom  of  hope  and  encourage- 
ment his  bold  act  had  produced  other  than  the 
simple  fact  that  she  had  submitted  as  grace- 
fully as  possible  to  the  inevitable  and  had 
made  the  best  of  it. 

"Ugo  has  the  center  of  the  stage,  and  every- 
body else  is  in  the  orchestra,  playing  fiddles  of 
secondary  importance,  while  Miss  Dorothy  is 
the  lone  and  only  audience,"  reflected  Dickey. 

"I  wish  you'd  confine  your  miserable  specu- 
lations to  the  weather,  Dickey,"  said  the  other, 
testily. 

"With  pleasure.  To-morrow  will  be  a 
delightful  day  for  a  drive  or  a  stroll.  You 
and  I,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  can  take  an 
all-day  drive  into  the  country  and  get  ac- 
quainted with  the  Belgian  birds  and  bees — and 
the  hares,  too." 

"Don't  be  an  ass!  What  sort  of  a  game  do 
you  think  those  Italians  were  up  to  this  even- 
ing? I'm  as  nervous  as  the  devil.  It's  time 
for  the  game  to  come  to  a  head,  and  we  may 
as  well  expect  something  sudden." 


132  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"I  think  it  depends  on  the  prince.  If  he 
finds  that  you  haven't  torn  down  his  fences 
while  you  had  full  sway,  he'll  not  be  obliged 
to  go  on  with  the  game.  He  was  merely  pro- 
tecting interests  that  absence  endangered. 
Now  that  he's  here,  and  if  all  is  smooth  and 
undisturbed — or,  in  other  words,  if  you  have 
failed  in  your  merciless  design  to  put  a  few 
permanent  and  unhealable  dents  in  the  fair 
lady's  heart — he  will  certainly  discharge  his 
cohorts  and  enjoy  very  smooth  seas  for  the 
rest  of  the  trip.  If  you  have  disfigured  her 
tender  heart  by  trying  to  break  into  it,  as  a 
safe-blower  gets  into  those  large,  steel  things 
we  call  safety  deposit  vaults — where  other  men 
keep  things  they  don't  care  to  lose — I  must  say 
that  his  Satanic  majesty  will  be  to  pay.  Do  you 
think  you  have  made  any  perceptible  dents, 
or  do  you  think  the  safe  is  as  strong  and  as 
impregnable  as  it  was  when  you  began  using 
chisels  and  dynamite  on  it  six  weeks  ago?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  enjoy  the  simile,  but  I'm 
conceited  enough  to  think  it  is  not  as  free  from 
dents  as  it  was  when  I  began.  I'm  not  quite 
sure  about  it,  but  I  believe  with  a  little  more 
time  and  security  against  interference  I  might 
have — er — have ' ' 

"Got  away  with  the  swag,  as  Turk  would 


SOME  UGLY-LOOKING  MEN  133 

say.  Well,  it's  this  way.  If  the  prince  inves- 
tigates and  finds  that  you  were  frightened  away 
just  in  time  to  prevent  wholesale  looting, 
you'll  have  to  do  some  expert  dodging  to 
escape  the  consequences  of  the  crime.  He'll 
have  the  duke  and  the  count  and  a  few  others 
do  nothing  but  get  up  surprise  parties  for  you." 

"That's  it„  Dickey.  That's  what  I'm  afraid 
of — the  surprise  parties.  He's  afraid  of  me, 
or  he  wouldn't  have  gone  to  the  trouble  of 
having  me  watched.  They've  got  something 
brewing  or  they  wouldn't  have  been  so  quiet 
for  the  past  two  weeks.  Courant  is  gone, 
and " 

"How  do  you  know  Courant  isn't  here?'' 

"Turk  says  he  has  disappeared." 

"Turk  doesn't  know  everj'^thing.  That  fel- 
low may  have  'a  score  of  disguises.  These 
French  detectives  are  great  on  false  whiskers 
and  dramatic  possibilities.  The  chances  are 
that  he  has  been  watching  you  night  and  day, 
and  I'll  bet  my  head,  if  he  has,  he's  been  able 
to  tell  Ugo  more  about  your  affair  with  Miss 
Garrison  than  you  know  yourself,  my  boy." 

They  turned  to  retrace  their  steps,  Phil 
gloomily  surveying  the  big,  partially-lighted 
house  across  the  way.  A  man  met  them  and 
made  room  for  them  to  pass  on  the  narrow 


134.  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

walk.  He  was  a  jaunty,  well-dressed  young 
fellow  and  the  others  would  have  observed 
nothing  peculiar  about  him  had  they  not 
caught  him  looking  intently  toward  the  house 
which  was  of  such  interest  to  them.  As  he 
passed  them  he  peered  closely  at  their  faces 
and  so  strange  was  his  manner  that  both  in- 
voluntarily turned  their  heads  to  look  after 
him.  As  is  usually  the  case,  he  also  turned  to 
look  at  them. 

"I  saw  that  fellow  in  the  hotel,"  said  Sav- 
age. 

Five  minutes  later  they  met  Turk  and,  before 
they  could  utter  a  word  of  protest,  he  was  lead- 
ing them  into  the  Rue  du  Prince  Royal. 

"There's  a  guy  follerin'  you,"  he  explained. 
"An'  th'  two  swells  is  drivin'  aroun'  in  a  cab 
like  as  if  they  wuz  expectin'  fun.  They  just 
passed  you  on  th'  avenoo,  an'  now  they's 
comin'  back.  That's  their  rig — cuttin'  across 
there.  See?  I  tell  you,  they's  somethin'  in 
the  air,  an'  it  looks  as  though  it  ain't  goin'  to 
pan  out  as  they  wanted  it  to." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  The  duke 
and  the  count  went  to  a  dance  hall,"  expostu- 
lated Quentin. 

"To  make  a  night  of  it,"  added  Savage 
\      "Didn't   you    see  a   nice    lookin'    feller   up 


SOME  UGL  Y-LOOKING  MEN  135 

there  in  th'  avenoo,  an'  didn't  he  size  you  up 
purty  close?  That's  him — that's  Courant,  th' 
fly  cop.  Git  inside  this  doorway  an'  you'll  see 
him  pass  yere  in  a  couple  of  seconds.  He's 
not  a  block  behind  us." 

Sure  enough  the  dapper  stranger  passed  by 
the  three  men  in  shadow,  looking  uneasily, 
nervously  up  and  across  the  street. 

"He's  lost  th'  trail,"  whispered  Turk,  after 
Courant  was  beyond  hearing. 

"The  same  fellow,  I'll  be  blowed,"  said 
Dickey,  in  amazement.  "Now,  what  do  you 
suppose  the  game  is?" 

"My  idea  is  that  w'en  you  turned  'em  down 
on  th'  dance  hall  job  they  was  afraid  you'd  go 
to  th'  young  lady's  house  and  cut  in  on  th' 
prince's  cinch,  so  they  had  to  git  a  move  on 
to  head  you  off.  You  was  wise  w'en  you 
kicked  out  of  th'  dance  hall  racket.  Th' 
chances  are  you'd  'a'  got  into  all  kinds  o'  hell 
if  you'd  fell  into  th'  trap.  Say,  I'm  dead  sure 
o'  one  er  two  t'ings.  In  th'  first  place,  they've 
got  four  or  five  more  ringers  than  we  know 
about.  I  seen  Courant  talkin'  mighty  secret- 
like to  two  waiters  in  th'  hall  this  evenin',  an' 
th'  driver  o'  that  cab  o'  theirn  was  a  baggage 
hustler  at  th'  Bellyvoo  as  late  as  yesterday." 

"By  thunder,  I  believe  their  game  was  to 


136  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

mix  us  up  in  a  big  free-for-all  fight  when  they 
got  us  into  that  dance  dive.  That  shows 
Dickey,  how  wise  I  was  to  decline  the  invita- 
tion," said  Quentin,  seriously.  By  this  time 
they  were  some  distance  behind  Turk,  follow- 
ing in  the  path  of  the  puzzled  de<-ective.  They 
saw  him  look  curiously  at  the  lighted  windows 
of  the  houses,  and  overtook  him  at  the  inter- 
section of  the  Boulevard  Waterloo.  Just  as 
they  came  up  from  behind,  Courant  stopped 
for  an  instant's  conversation  with  two  men. 
Their  talk  was  brief  and  the  trio  turned  to  go 
back  over  the  path  just  traversed  by  Courant. 
The  two  sets  of  men  met  fairly  and  were  com- 
pelled to  make  room  for  each  other  to  pass. 
Courant  came  to  a  full  stop  involuntarily,  but 
recovered  himself  and  followed  his  friends 
quickly. 

"The  plot  thickens,"  observed  Phil.  "It 
looks  as  though  they  are  rounding  up  their 
forces  after  the  miscarriage  of  the  original 
plan.  Gad,  they  are  hunting  us  down  like  rats 
to-night." 

"The  hotel  is  the  safest  place  for  us,  and 
the  quicker  we  get  there  the  better,"  said 
Dickey.     "I'm  not  armed,  are  you?" 

"Of  course  not.  I  hadn't  thought  of  such  a 
thing,  but  from  now  on  I'll  carry  a  revolver. 


SOME  UGLY-LOOKING  MEN  137 

Those  fellows  didn't  look  especially  dainty, 
did  they?" 

"I  can't  believe  that  they  intend  to  murder 
you  or  anything  like  that.  They  wouldn't 
dare  do  such  a  thing." 

"That's  th'  game,  Mr.  Savage;  I'm  dead 
sure  of  it.  This  was  th'  night  an'  it  was  to 
ha'  been  done  in  th'  dance  hall,  riot,  stam- 
pede, everybody  fightin'  wild  an'  then  a  jab  in 
th'  back.  Nobody  any  th'  wiser,  see?"  The 
two  paled  a  trifle  under  Turk's  blunt  way  of 
putting  it. 

When  they  entered  the  hotel  a  short  time 
later  the  first  man  they  saw  was  Prince  Ugo. 
With  his  dark  eyes  glowing,  his  lips  parted  in 
a  fine  smile,  he  came  to  meet  them,  his  hand 
extended  heartily. 

"I  have  asked  for  you,  gentlemen,  and  you 
were  out.  You  return  just  as  I  am  ready  to  give 
up  in  despair.  And  now,  let  me  say  how 
happy  I  am  to  see  you,"  he  said,  warmly.  The 
Americans  shook  hands  with  him,  confusion 
filling  their  brains.  Why  was  he  not  with  the 
Garrisons? 

"I  knew  you  were  here.  Prince  Ugo,  and 
would  have  inquired  for  you  but  that  I  sus- 
pected you  would  be  closely  engaged,  '  said 
Quentin,  after  a  moment. 


138  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Earlier  in  the  evening  I  was  engaged,  but 
I  am  here  now  as  the  bearer  of  a  message  to 
you,  Mr.  Quentin.  Miss  Garrison  has  asked 
me  to  deliver  into  your  hands  this  missive." 
With  that  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  sealed 
envelope  and  passed  it  to  Quentin.  "I  was 
commanded  to  give  it  you  to-night,  so  perhaps 
you  will  read  it  now." 

"Thank  you,"  muttered  the  other,  nervously 
tearing  open  the  envelope  as  the  prince  turned 
to  Dickey  Savage.  At  that  moment  the  duke 
and  the  count  strolled  into  the  rotunda,  jaun- 
tily, easily,  as  if  they  had  been  no  farther  than 
the  block  just  beyond,  instead  of  racing  about 
in  a  bounding  cab.  They  approached  the 
group  as  Phil  turned  away  to  read  the  note 
which  had  come  so  strangely  into  his  hands. 
Dorothy  wrote: 

"Dear  Phil:  I  trust  you  to  say  nothing  to 
Prince  Ugo.  I  mean,  do  not  intimate  that  I 
saw  him  yesterday  when  1  went  to  drive  with 
you.  He  would  consider  it  an  affront.  I 
know  it  is  not  necessary  to  caution  you,  but  I 
feel  safe  in  doing  so.  You  will  pardon  me,  I 
am  sure.  My  conduct,  as  well  as  yours,  when 
we  look  at  it  calmly  in  an  afterlight,  was  quite 
extraordinary.     So  fully  do  I  trust  him  and  so 


SOME  UGLY-LOOKING  MEN  139 

well  does  he  love  me  that  I  know  this  note 
comes  to  you  inviolate.  "D." 

Phil's  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  He  glanced  at 
the  handsome  face  of  Dorothy's  noble  lover 
and  then  at  his  swarthy  fellow  countrymen. 
Could  they  be  plotters?  Could  he  be  hand-in- 
hand  with  those  evil-looking  men?  He  had 
delivered  the  note,  and  yet  he  so  feared  its 
recipient  that  he  was  employing  question- 
able means  to  dispose  of  him.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  genuineness 
of  the  note.  It  was  from  Dorothy,  and  the 
prince  had  borne  it  to  him  direct  from  her 
hand. 

"An  invitation  to  dinner?"  asked  the  prince, 
laughing  easily.  "Miss  Garrison  is  alarmingly 
fond  of  Mr.  Quentin,  and  I  begin  to  feel  the 
first  symptoms  of  jealousy.  Pardon  me,  I 
should  not  speak  of  her  here,  even  in  jest." 
So  sincere  was  his  manner  that  the  Americans 
felt  a  strange  respect  for  him.  The  same 
thought  flashed  through  the  minds  of  both: 
"He  is  not  a  blackguard,  whatever  else  he  may 
be."  But  up  again  came  the  swift  thought  of 
Courant  and  his  ugly  companions,  and  the 
indisputable  evidence  that  the  first  named,  at 
least,  was  a  paid  agent  of  the  man  who  stood 


140  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

before  them,  now  the  prince,  once  the  singer 
in  far  away  Brazil. 

"The  mention  of  dinner  recalls  me  to  affairs 
of  my  own,"  continued  Ugo.  "To-morrow 
night  I  expect  a  few  friends  here  to  dine,  and  I 
have  the  honor  to  ask  you  all  to  be  among  my 
guests.  We  shall  sit  down  at  nine  o'clock,  and 
I  only  exact  a  promise  that  the  end  may  come 
within  a  week  thereafter." 

The  Americans  could  do  naught  but  accept, 
but  there  was  an  oppressive  sense  of  misgiving 
in  their  hearts.  Mayhap  the  signal  failure  to 
carry  out  the  plans  of  one  night  was  leading 
swiftly  and  resolutely  up  to  the  success  of  an- 
other. For  more  than  an  hour  Quentin  and  his 
friend  sat  silently,  soberly  in  the  former's  room, 
voicing  only  after  long  intervals  the  opinions 
and  conjectures  their  puzzled  minds  begot, 
only  to  sink  back  into  fresh  fields  for  thought. 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  said  Dickey,  at  last, 
starting  to  bed. 

"I  believe  I  understand  it  perfectly.  They 
are  on  a  new  tack.  It  occurs  to  me  that  they 
fear  we  suspect  something  and  the  dinner  is  a 
sort  of  peace  offering." 

"We  maybe  getting  into  a  nest  of  masculine 
Lucretia  Borgias,  my  boy." 

"Pleasant  dreams,  then.     Good-night!" 


XIV 

A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  evening  Quentin 
and  Savage  found  themselves  in  the  rooms 
occupied  by  the  prince,  the  former  experi- 
encing a  distinct  sense  of  wariness  and  caution. 

If  Quentin  suspected  some  form  of  treachery 
at  the  outset,  he  was  soon  obliged  to  ridicule 
his  fears.  There  were  nearly  a  score  of  men 
there,  and  a  single  glance  revealed  to  him  the 
gratifying  fact  that  no  treachery  could  be 
practiced  in  such  an  assemblage.  Among 
their  fellow  guests  there  was  an  English  lord, 
an  Austrian  duke,  a  Russian  prince,  a  German 
baron,  besides  others  from  France,  Belgium 
and  Germany. 

Prince  Ugo  greeted  them  warmly,  and  they 
were  at  their  ease  in  an  instant  under  the  mag- 
netism of  his  manner.  Duke  Laselli  and 
Count  Diego  were  more  profuse  in  their  greet- 
ings to  the  young  men,  and  it  devolved  upon 
the  latter  to  introduce  them  to  the  distin- 
guished strangers.  There  was  but  one  other 
American  there,  a  millionaire  whose  name  is 
141 


142  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

a  household  word  in  the  states  and  whose 
money  was  at  that  time  just  beginning  to 
assert  itself  as  a  menace  to  the  great  commer- 
cial interests  of  the  old  world.  He  welcomed 
his  fellow  New  Yorkers  with  no  small  show  of 
delight.  The  expression  of  relief  on  his  face 
plainly  exposed  a  previous  fear  that  he  v/as 
unspeakably  alone  in  this  assemblage  of  con- 
tinental aristocrats. 

At  the  table,  Ouentin  sat  between  an  Aus- 
trian duke  and  a  German  named  Von  Kragg. 
He  was  but  two  seats  removed  from  Prince 
Ugo,  while  Savage  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  almost  opposite  Quentin.  On  Dickey's 
right  sat  the  Duke  Laselli,  and  next  to  that 
individual  was  the  American  millionaire. 
Directly  across  the  broad  table  from  Quentin 
was  the  tall,  rakish-looking  Count  Diego  Sal- 
laconi. 

"Ob,  nobde  gap  sansan  wobble  wibble  raggle 
dully  pang  rubby  dub,  bob,"  said  the  baron,  in 
his  best  French,  addressing  the  statuesque 
American  with  the  broad  shoulders  and  the 
intense  countenance. 

"With  all  my  heart,"  responded  Mr.  Quen- 
tin, with  rare  composure  and  equal  confidence. 
He  had  no  more  conception  of  what  the  baron 
intended  to  say  than  he  would  have  had  if  the 


A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL  143 

planet  Mars  had  wigwagged  a  signal  to  him, 
but  he  was  polite  enough  to  do  anything  for 
the  sake  of  conversation.  The  baron  smiled 
gladly,  even  approvingly;  it  was  plain  that  he 
understood  Phil's  English  fully  as  well  as  that 
gentleman  understood  his  French.  Quentin 
heard  his  name  uttered  by  Prince  Ugo  and 
turned  from  the  baron. 

"Mr.  Quentin,  Prince  Kapolski  tells  me  he 
saw  our  friends,  the  Saxondales,  in  London 
last  week.  They  were  preparing  to  go  to  their 
place  in  the  country.  You  have  been  there, 
have  you  not?"  Prmce  Ugo  turned  his  gleam- 
ing eyes  and  engaging  smile  upon  the  man 
addressed. 

"On  several  occasions,"  responded  the 
other.  "Saxondale  is  a  famous  hunter  and  he 
gave  me  some  rare  sport.  When  do  they  leave 
London?  '  he  asked,  indifferently. 

"They  were  to  have  started  this  week,"  said 
the  Russian  prince,  "and  there  is  to  be  quite  a 
large  party,  I  hear.  A  young  American  who 
was  with  them  was  called  away  suddenly  last 
week,  and,  as  the  trip  was  arranged  for  his 
special  amusement — by  the  Lady  Jane,  I  w^as 
told — his  departure  upset  the  plans  a  trifle." 
Quentin  and  Savage,  who  had  heard  the 
remark,  glanced  at  one  another  in  surprise. 


144  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

"I  should  enjoy  being  with  them,"  said  the 
former,  warmly.  "My  friend,  Mr.  Savage, 
was  invited,  I  think,"  he  added,  and  Dickey 
studiously  consulted  the  salad.  He  had  not 
been  invited  and  the  announcement  that  the 
Saxondales  were  off  for  the  north  of  England 
was  news  to  him. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  exclaimed  Ugo;  "he  was 
their  guest.  And  the  Lady  Jane  arranged  it, 
you  say,  Kapolski?  Draft  horses  could  not 
have  been  strong  enough  to  pull  me  away  from 
London  had  she  planned  for  my  pleasure. 
You  must  discover  the  fault  in  him,  my  dear 
Quentin,  and  hold  him  to  account  for  a  very 
reprehensible  act."  Ugo  knew  that  Dickey  was 
listening,  and  the  first  point  in  a  beautiful 
game  was  scored. 

"Mr.  Savage  does  not  care  for  shooting," 
said  Phil,  flushing  slightly.  The  Russian 
prince  had  been  looking  at  him  intently;  a 
peculiar  flash  came  into  his  eye  when  Quentin 
made  the  defensive  remark. 

"But  there  is  game  to  be  had  without  resort- 
ing to  the  gun,"  he  said,  smiling  blandly. 

"One  doesn't  have  to  go  to  a  shooting  box 
to  bag  it,  though,"  said  Sallaconi,  mischie- 
vously. 

"I  think  the  hunter  uses  bow  and  arrow  ex- 


A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL  145 

clusively,"  added  Ugo,  and  there  was  a  gen- 
eral laugh,  which  sent  a  streak  of  red  up 
Dickey's  cheeks.  If  the  Russian's  news  was 
true  he  had  been  purposely  slighted  by  the 
Saxondales.  And  yet  it  was  not  altogether 
humiliation  or  wounded  pride  that  brought  the 
red  to  his  cheek.  He  and  the  Lady  Jane  had 
quarrelled  just  before  he  left  her,  and  while  he 
hated  her  and  she  hated  him  and  all  that,  still 
he  did  not  care  to  hear  her  name  bandied  about 
by  the  wine  sippers  at  this  delectable  table. 

"What  are  they  talking  about?"  asked  the 
American  millionaire  of  Dickey,  his  curiosity 
aroused  by  the  laughter  of  a  moment  before. 

"About  as  nasty  as  they  can,"  growled 
Dickey.     "That's  their  style,  you  know." 

"Whew!  You  don't  have  much  of  an  opin- 
ion of  nobility.  Beware  of  the  prince,"  said 
the  other,  in  a  low  tone. 

"You  couldn't  insult  some  of  them  with  a 
deliberate  and  well-aimed  kick,"  remarked  the 
younger  man,  sourly.  The  Duke  Laselli's  ears 
turned  a  shade  pinker  under  his  oily,  swarthy 
skin,  for  the  words  penetrated  them  in  spite 
of  the  speaker's  caution. 

"A  toast,"  said  the  Russian  prince,  arising 
from  his  seat  beside  Ravorelli.  The  guests 
arose  and  glasses  almost  met  in  a  long  line 


146  CA  STLE  CRA NEYCRO  W 

above  the  center  of  the  table.  Ugo  alone  re- 
mained seated  as  if  divining  that  they  were  to 
drink  to  him.  For  the  first  time  Quentin 
closely  observed  the  Russian.  He  was  tall 
and  of  a  powerful  frame,  middle-aged  and  the 
possessor  of  a  strong,  handsome  face  on  which 
years  of  dissipation  had  left  few  weakening 
marks.  His  eyes  were  narrow  and  as  blue  as 
the  sky,  his  hair  light  and  bushy,  his  beard 
coarse  and  suggestive  of  the  fierceness  of  the 
wild  boar.  His  voice  was  clear  and  cutting, 
and  his  French  almost  perfect.  "We  drink  to 
the  undying  happiness  of  our  host,  the  luckiest 
prince  in  all  the  world.  May  he  always  know 
the  bliss  of  a  lover  and  never  the  cares  of  a 
husband;  may  his  wedded  state  be  an  endless 
love  story  without  a  prosaic  passage;  may  life 
with  the  new  Princess  of  Ravorelli  be  a  poem, 
a  song,  a  jubilate,  with  never  a  dirge  between 
its  morn  and  its  midnight." 

"And  a  long  life  to  him,"  added  Quentin, 
clearly.  As  they  drank  the  eyes  of  Prince  Ugo 
were  upon  the  last  speaker,  and  there  was  a 
puzzled  expression  in  them.  Count  Sallaconi's 
black  eyebrows  shot  up  at  the  outer  ends  and  a 
curious  grimness  fastened  itself  about  his 
mouth  and  nose. 

"I  thank  you,  gentlemen,"  responded  Ugo, 


A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL  147 

arising.  "Will  you  divide  the  toast  with  me 
in  proposing  the  happiness  of  the  one  who  is  to 
bring  all  these  good  things  into  my  life?"  The 
half-emptied  glasses  were  drained.  Dickey 
Savage's  eyes  met  Quentin's  in  a  long  look  of 
perplexity.  At  last  an  almost  imperceptible 
twinkle,  suggestive  of  either  mirth  or  skepti- 
cism, manifested  itself  in  his  friend's  eyes  and 
the  puzzled  observer  was  satisfied. 

When,  in  the  end,  the  diners  pushed  their 
chairs  back  from  the  table  and  passed  into 
another  room,  it  was  far  past  midnight,  and 
the  real  revelry  of  the  night  was  at  hand. 
Reckless,  voluptuous  women  from  the  vaude- 
ville houses  and  dance  halls  appeared,  and  for 
hours  the  wine-soaked  scions  of  nobility  reeked 
in  those  exhibitions  which  shock  the  sensi- 
bilities of  true  men.  Four  men  there  were 
who  tried  to  conceal  their  disgust  while  the 
others  roared  out  the  applause  of  degene- 
rates. 

"I  am  not  a  saint,  but  this  is  more  than  I 
can  stand.      It  is  sickening,"  said  Quentin. 

"And  these  miserable  specimens  of  European 
manhood  delight  in  it,"  said  Savage,  his  face 
aflame  with  shame  and  disgust.  "It  is  too  vile 
for  a  man  who  has  a  breath  of  manhood  in  him 
to  encourage,  and  yet  these  bounders  go  crazy 


148  CA  STLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  IV 

with  rapture.  Gad,  don't  ask  what  kind  of 
women  they  are.  Ask  how  it  is  the  world  has 
ever  called  these  fellows  men." 

"Did  I  understand  you  correctly,  sir?"  asked 
a  cold  voice  at  his  side,  and  Dickey  turned  to 
look  into  the  flaming  eyes  of  Prince  Kapolski. 
Count  Sallaconi  was  clutching  the  left  arm  of 
the  big  Russian,  and  there  was  a  look  of  dismay 
in  his  face.  He  flashed  a  glance  of  fierce  dis- 
appointment at  Quentin,  and  then  one  of  help- 
lessness across  the  room  at  Prince  Ugo. 

"If  you  understand  English  you  probably 
did,"  said  Dickey,  pale  but  defiant. 

"Come,  prince,"  began  the  agitated  count, 
but  Kapolski  shook  him  off. 

"You  must  apologize  for  your  comments, 
sir,"  said  the  prince,  in  excellent  English. 

"I  can't  apologize,  you  know.  I  meant  what 
I  said,"  said  Dickey,  drawing  himself  up  to  the 
limit  of  his  five  feet  ten.  The  Russian's  open 
hand  came  violently  in  contact  with  the  young 
fellow's  cheek,  driving  the  tears  to  the  surface 
of  his  eyes.  They  were  tears  of  anger,  pain 
and  mortification,  not  of  submission  or  fear. 

His  clenched  right  hand  shot  outward  and 
upward,  and  before  the  Russian  knew  what  had 
happened  a  crashing  blow  caught  him  full  in 
the  jaw,  and  he  would  have  gone  sprawling  to 


A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL  149 

the  floor  had  not  Diego  Sallaconi  caught  him 
in  his  arms.  Quentin  grasped  Dickey  and 
pulled  him  away,  while  others  rushed  in  and 
held  the  roaring,  sputtering  victim. 

All  was  confusion  and  excitement  in  an 
instant.  Quentin  and  the  millionaire  drew 
their  lithe  countryman  away  from  the  gather- 
ing crowd,  one  cheek  white  as  a  sheet,  the 
other  a  bright  pink,  and  Phil  hoarsely  whis- 
pered to  him: 

"I  don't  know  what  we're  in  for,  Dickey,  so 
for  heaven's  sake  let's  get  out  of  here.  We 
don't  want  any  more  of  it.  You  gave  him  a 
good  punch  and  that's  enough." 

"You  broke  up  the  show  all  right  enough," 
exclaimed  the  millionaire,  excitedly.  "The 
fairies  ran  over  each  other  trying  to  get  out  of 
the  room.  You're  as  game  as  a  fighting  cock, 
too." 

"Let  me  alone,  Phil!"  panted  Dickey.  "You 
don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  run  from  that  big 
duffer,  do  you?     Let  go!" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Dickey,"  said  his  friend, 
earnestly.  Just  then  a  pale-faced,  sickly-look- 
ing waiter  came  up  from  behind  and  hoarsely 
whispered  in  Quentin's  ear: 

"Get  out,  quick!  The  big  prince  made  a 
mistake.     He  was  to  have  quarrelled  with  you, 


150  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

Monsieur."  He  was  gone  before  he  could  be 
questioned. 

"See!"  exclaimed  Dickey.  "It  was  a  job, 
after  all,  and  the  dago  is  at  the  bottom  of  it!" 

"Sh!  Here  he  comes  with  the  Russian  and 
the  whole  pack  behind  them.  It's  too  late;  we 
can't  run  now,"  said  Phil,  despairingly.  As 
Ugo  and  Kapolski  crossed  the  room,  the 
former,  whose  face  was  white  with  suppressed 
passion,  hissed  under  his  breath  into  the  ear  of 
the  raging  Russian: 

"You  fool,  it  was  the  other  one — the  tall 
one!  You  have  quarrelled  with  the  wrong 
man.  The  big  one  is  Quentin,  Kapolski. 
How  could  you  have  made  such  a  mistake?" 

"Mistake  or  no  mistake,  he  has  struck  me, 
and  he  shall  pay  for  it.  The  other  can  come 
later,"  growled  the  Russian,  savagely. 

"Gentlemen,  this  is  no  place  to  fight.  Let 
us  have  explanations "  began  Ugo,  address- 
ing Quentin  more  than  Savage,  but  the  latter 
interrupted: 

"Call  off  your  dogs  and  we  will  talk  it  over," 
he  said. 

"Dickey!"  cautioned  his  friend. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Savage.  My 
dogs?  Oh,  I  see,  Mr.  Quentin;  he  is  mad  with 
anger,"  said  the  prince,  deprecatingly. 


A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL  151 

"There  can  be  no  explanations,"  snarled 
Kapolski.  "My  card,  Monsieur,"  and  he 
threw  the  pasteboard  in  the  young  American's 
face. 

"Damn  your  impudence,"  exploded  Quen- 
tin,  now  ready  to  take  the  fight  off  the  hands 
of  the  one  on  whom  it  had  been  forced 
through  error.  "You  ought  to  be  kicked 
downstairs  for  that." 

"You  will  have  that  to  recall.  Monsieur,  but 
not  until  after  I  have  disposed  of  your  valiant 
friend,"  exclaimed  Kapolski. 

"We  are  not  in  the  habit  of  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  dispose  of  such  affairs,"  said  Quen- 
tin,  coolly.  "We  fight  when  we  have  a  cause 
and  on  the  spot." 

"Do  you  expect  civilized  men  to  carry  arms 
into  drawing-rooms?"  sneered  Kapolski.  Ugo's 
face  was  lighting  up  with  pleasure  and  satis- 
faction and  Sallaconi  was  breathing  easier. 

"I'm  speaking  of  hands,  not  arms,"  said 
Phil,  glaring  at  the  other. 

"I'll  fight  him  in  a  second,"  cried  Dickey. 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  Be  calm!  Let 
this  affair  be  arranged  by  your  seconds  and  in 
the  regular  manner,"  expostulated  Ugo. 
"This  is  very  unusual,  and  I  must  beg  of  you 
to  remember  that  you  are  in  my  rooms." 


152  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"That  is  the  rub,  Prince  Ravorelli,  It  has 
happened  in  your  rooms,  and  I  want  to  say  to 
you  that  if  evil  befalls  my  friend,  I  shall  hold 
you  to  account  for  it,"  said  Quentin,  turning 
on  him  suddenly, 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  I  can  and  am 
ready  to  fight  my  own  battles." 

"This  outrageous  brawl  is  none  of  my  affair, 
Mr.  Quentin,  and  I  do  not  like  your  threat. 
You  and  I  should  do  all  in  our  power  to  pre- 
vent it  from  going  farther.  Your  friend  was 
too  free  with  his  words,  1  am  told.  If  he  did 
not  like  my  entertainment,  he  should  have  left 
the  room." 

"Well,  I  didn't  like  it,  if  you  want  to 
know,"  said  Dickey.  "And  I  don't  care  a  con- 
tinental who  heard  what  I  said." 

"Does  he  still  want  to  fight  with  his  hands?" 
demanded  Kapolski,  now  cool  and  ironical. 
There  was  an  infuriating  attempt  on  his  part  to 
speak  as  if  he  were  addressing  a  small,  pouting 
child. 

"Anything — anything!  The  only  point  is, 
you'll  have  to  fight  to-night — right  now.  I've 
two  or  three  friends  here  who'll  see  that  I  get 
fair  play."  said  Dickey,  discretion  flying  t*^  the 
wind. 


A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL  153 

"You  shall  fight  and  here!"  exclaimed  the 
Russian.  "But  you  shall  fight  like  a  gentleman 
for  once  in  your  life.  I  will  not  claw  and 
scratch  with  you,  like  the  women  do,  but  with 
any  weapon  you  name." 

Dickey's  valor  did  not  fade,  but  his  discretion 
came  to  the  surface  with  a  suddenness  that 
took  his  breath  away.  He  turned  to  speak  to 
Quentin  and  the  millionaire.  Phil's  face  was 
deathly  white,  and  there  was  a  pleading  look 
in  his  eyes.  The  millionaire  was  trembling 
like  a  leaf. 

"I  guess  I'll  take  pistols,"  said  Dickey, 
slowly.  "I  can't  hit  the  side  of  a  barn,  but  he 
can't  bluff  me,  damn  him." 

"Great  Scott,  Dickey!  Don't  do  it,  don't  do 
it!"  whispered  Quentin.  "This  is  my  fight, 
you  know  it  is,  and  I  won't  let  you " 

"You  can't  help  it,  old  boy.  He'll  probably 
get  me,  but  I  may  be  lucky  enough  to  have  a 
bullet  land  in  him.  My  only  chance  is  to  aim 
anywhere  but  at  him,  shut  my  eyes,  and  trust 
to  luck."  Then  turning  to  Kapolski  he  said, 
deliberately:  "Pistols,  and  here,  if  the  prince 
does  not  object." 

"Cannot  this  affair  be  postponed "  began 

Ugo,  desperately. 

"Not    unless    your    friend    forgets    that    I 


154  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

punched  his  head.  It  is  now  or  never  with 
me,"  said  Dickey. 

"I  insist  that  it  is  my  right  to  fight  this 
man!"  exclaimed  Qucntin,  standing  forth.  "I 
first  expressed  the  opinion  which  Mr.  Savage 
merely  echoed  and  to  which  Prince  Kapolski 
took  exception." 

"But  you  did  not  strike  me.  In  any  event, 
you  shall  come  next,  Mr.  Quentin;  I  shall 
take  you  on  immediately  after  I  have  disposed 
of  your  cockadoodle  friend,"  said  Kapolski, 
throwing  aside  his  coat.  "You  have  pistols 
here,  Prince  Ravorelli?" 

"This  is  murder,"  cried  the  millionaire, 
"and  I  shall  take  it  before  the  United  States 
government." 

"Dickey!  Dickey!"  cried  Phil,  helplessly,  as 
Savage  began  to  remove  his  coat. 

"I  have  weapons,  if  you  insist,  gentlemen," 
said  Ugo.  At  his  words  intense  excitement 
prevailed,  for  now  there  could  be  no  doubt  as 
to  the  result  of  the  quarrel.  Count  Sallaconi 
hurried  away  for  the  pistols,  smiling  signifi- 
cantly as  he  passed  his  prince.  His  smile 
said  that  Kapolski  would  kill  two  men  that 
night. 

"For  God's  sake,  Dickey,  be  careful,  if  you 
must  fight.      Take  deliberate   aim   and  don't 


A  DINNER  AND  A  DUEL  155 

lose  your  nerve,"  cried  Quentln,  grasping  him 
by  the  arms.     "You  are  as  cold  as  ice." 

"I  haven't  fired  a  pistol  more  than  a  dozen 
times  in  my  life,"  said  Dickey,  smiling  faintly. 

"Then  shoot  low,"  said  the  millionaire. 

"Your  second.  Monsieur?"  said  the  Austrian 
duke,  coming  to  Savage's  side. 

"Mr.  Quentin  will  act,  Monsieur  le  Due. 
We  may  need  a  surgeon." 

"Dr.  Gassbeck  is  here." 

It  was  hurriedly  agreed  that  the  men  should 
stand  at  opposite  ends  of  the  room,  nearly 
twenty  feet  apart,  back  to  back.  At  the  word 
given  by  Prince  Ugo,  they  were  to  turn  and 
lire. 

Sallaconi  came  in  with  the  pistol  case  and 
the  seconds  examined  the  weapons  carefully. 
A  moment  later  the  room  was  cleared  except 
for  the  adversaries,  the  seconds,  and  Prince  Ugo. 

There  was  the  stillness  of  death.  On  the 
face  of  the  Russian  there  was  an  easy  smile, 
for  was  not  he  a  noted  shot?  Had  he  ever 
missed  an  adversary  in  a  duel?  Dickey  was 
pale,  but  he  did  not  tremble  as  he  took  the 
pistol  in  his  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Phil,"  was  all  he  said.  Poor 
Quentin  turned  his  face  away  as  he  clasped  his 
hand,  and  he  could  only  murmur: 


156  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"If  he  hits  you,  I'll  kill  him." 

A  moment  later  the  word  "fire"  came  and 
the  two  men  whirled  into  position.  Dickey's 
arm  went  up  like  a  flash,  the  other's  more 
cruelly  deliberate.  Two  loud  reports  followed 
in  quick  succession,  the  slim  American's  nerv- 
ous finger  pressed  the  trigger  first.  He  had 
not  taken  aim.  He  had  located  his  man's 
position  before  turning  away,  and  the  whole 
force  of  his  will  was  bent  on  driving  the  bullet 
directly  toward  the  spot  he  had  in  mind. 
Kapolski's  bullet  struck  the  wall  above 
Dickey's  head,  his  deadly  aim  spoiled  by  the 
quick,  reckless  shot  from  the  other  end  of  the 
room. 

He  lunged  forward.  Dickey's  bullet  had 
blown  away  part  of  the  big  Russian's  chin  and 
jaw,  burying  itself  in  the  wall  beyond. 


XV 

APPROACH  OF  THE  CRISIS 

Prince  Ugo's  face  was  livid,  and  his  blac1< 
eyes  bulged  with  horrified  amazement.  The 
unscrupulous,  daring,  infallible  duelist  whom 
he  had  induced  to  try  conclusions  with  Quen- 
tin  in  a  regular  and  effective  way,  had  been 
overthrown  at  the  outset  by  a  most  peculiar 
transaction  of  fate.  Pie  haJ  assured  the  Rus- 
sian that  Quentin  was  no  match  for  him  with 
the  weapons  common  to  dueling,  and  he  had 
led  him  to  believe  that  he  was  in  little  danger 
of  injury,  much  less  death.  Kapolski,  reck- 
less, a  despiser  of  all  things  American,  eagerly 
consented  to  the  plan,  and  Ugo  saw  a  way  to 
rid  himself  of  a  dangerous  rival  without  the 
taint  of  suspicion  besmirching  his  cloak.  Sal- 
laconi  was  an  accomplished  swordsman,  but  it 
would  have  been  unwise  to  send  him  against 
Quentin.  Ugo  himself  was  a  splendid  shot  and 
an  expert  with  the  blade,  and  it  was  not 
cowardice  that  kept  him  from  taking  the  affair 
in  his  own  hands.  It  was  wisdom,  cunning 
wisdom,  that  urged  him  to  stand  aloof  and  to 
157 


158  CASTLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

go  up  to  his  wedding  day  with  no  scandal  at 
his  back.  But  the  unexpected,  the  miracu- 
lous had  happened.  His  friend,  his  brother 
prince,  his  unwitting  tool,  had  gone  down  like 
a  log,  his  vaunted  skill  surpassed  by  the  marks- 
manship and  courage  of  an  accursed  American. 

To  his  credit  be  it  said  that  he  did  all  in  his 
power  to  preserve  the  life  of  Prince  Kapolski. 
More  than  that,  he  did  all  that  was  possible  to 
keep  the  story  of  the  encounter  from  reaching 
the  world.  So  powerful,  so  successful  was  his 
influence  that  the  world  at  large  knew  nothing 
of  the  fight,  the  police  were  bribed,  and  the 
newspapers  were  thrown  completely  qH  the 
scent. 

Ugo's  first  thought  after  the  fall  of  Kapolski 
was  to  prevent  his  opponent  from  leaving  the 
room  alive,  but  common  sense  came  to  his 
relief  a  second  later,  and  he  saw  the  folly  of 
taking  a  stand  against  the  victor.  He  rushed 
to  Kapolski's  side  and  helped  to  support  the 
moaning  man's  body.  The  surgeon  was  there 
an  instant  later,  and  Dickey,  as  white  as  a  ghost, 
started  mechanically  toward  the  fallen  foe. 
Quentin  stood  like  a  man  of  stone,  stunned  by 
relief  and  surprise.  One  glance  at  the  bloody, 
lacerated  face  and  the  rolling  eyes  caused  Sav- 
age to  flee  as  if  pursued  by  devils. 


APPROACH  OF  THE  CRISIS  159 

For  hours  Quentin  and  Turk  sought  to  com- 
fort and  to  quiet  him;  the  millionaire,  who 
refused  to  desert  them,  sat  up  all  night  to  man- 
age the  information  bureau,  as  he  called  it. 
He  personally  inquired  at  Ugo's  rooms,  and 
always  brought  back  reassuring  news,  which 
Quentin  doubted  and  Dickey  utterly  disbe- 
lieved At  four  o  clock  Prince  Ugo  himself, 
with  Duke  Laselli,  came  to  Quentin's  rooms 
with  the  word  that  Kapolski  was  to  be  taken  to 
a  hospital,  and  that  Dr.  Gassbeck  pronounced 
his  chance  for  recovery  excellent.  The  prince 
assured  Mr.  Savage  that  secrecy  would  be  pre- 
served, but  advised  him  to  leave  Brussels  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment.  Kapolski's  death, 
if  it  came,  would  command  an  investigation, 
and  it  would  be  better  if  he  were  where  the  law 
could  not  find  him. 

Quentin  with  difficulty  restrained  from 
openly  accusing  the  prince  of  duplicity. 
Afterthought  told  him  how  impotent  his  accu- 
sation would  have  been,  for  how  could  he 
prove  that  the  Russian  was  acting  as  an  agent? 

Just  before  daylight  Turk  saw  them  take 
Prince  Kapolski  from  the  hotel  in  an  ambu- 
lance, and,  considering  it  his  duty,  promptly 
followed  in  a  cab.  The  destination  of  the 
ambulance  was  the  side  street  entrance  to  one 


160  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

of  the  big  hospitals  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
town,  and  the  men  who  accompanied  the 
prince  were  strangers  to  the  little  observer. 
Prince  Ugo  was  not  of  the  party,  nor  were 
Laselli  and  Sallaconi.  On  his  return  to  the 
Bellevue  he  had  a  fresh  task  on  his  hands.  He 
was  obliged  to  carry  a  man  from  Quentin's 
apartments  and  put  him  to  bed  in  the  million- 
aire's room,  farther  down  the  hall.  The  mil- 
lionaire— for  it  was  he — slept  all  day  and  had 
a  headache  until  the  thirtieth  of  the  month. 
Turk  put  him  to  bed  on  the  twenty-seventh. 

During  the  forenoon  Prince  Ugo  and  Count 
Sallaconi  called  at  Quentin's  rooms.  They 
found  that  gentleman  and  Mr.  Savage  dressed 
and  ready  for  the  street. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Dickey,  pleasantly, 
for  the  two  Americans  had  determined  to  sup- 
press, for  diplomatic  reasons,  any  show  of  hos- 
tility toward  the  Italians.  The  visitors  may 
not  have  exposed  their  true  feelings,  but  they 
were  very  much  astounded  and  not  a  little 
shocked  to  find  the  duelist  and  his  friend  in 
the  best  of  spirits. 

"And  how  did  you  sleep?"  asked  Ugo,  after 
he  had  expressed  his  sorrow  over  the  little 
unpleasantry  of  the  night  before,  deploring  the 
tragic  ending  to  the  night  of  pleasure. 


APPROACH  OF  THE  CRISIS  161 

"Like  a  top,"  lied  Dickey,  cheerfully. 

"I  was  afraid  the  excitement  might  have 
caused  you  great  uneasiness  and — ah — dread," 
said  the  prince.  The  count  was  industriously 
engaged  in  piercing  with  his  glittering  eyes 
the  tapestry  in  a  far  corner  of  the  room.  Mr. 
Savage  possessed  the  manner  of  a  man  who 
shoots  someone  every  morning  before  breakfast. 

"Not  in  the  least;  did  it,  Quentin?" 

"He  slept  like  a  baby." 

"By  the  way,  before  I  forget  it.  Prince  Ugo, 
how  is  the  gentleman  I  shot  last  night — ah, 
what  was  his  name?"  asked  Dickey,  slapping 
his  leg  carelessly  with  his  walking  stick 

"Prince  Kapolski  is  in  the  hospital,  and  I 
fear  he  cannot  recover,"  said  the  prince.  "I 
came  to  tell  you  this  that  you  may  act  accord- 
ingly and  with  all  the  haste  possible." 

"O,  I  don't  know  why  I  should  run  away. 
Everybody  there  will  testify  that  the  fight  was 
forced  upon  me.  You  will  swear  to  that,  your- 
self, Prince  Ugo,  and  so  will  the  count.  I  had 
to  fight,  you  know." 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Savage,  that  you  were 
rather  eager  to  fight.  I  cannot  vouch  for  your 
safety  if  the  prince  dies,"  said  Ugo,  coolly. 

"But  he  /sn't  going  to  die.  I  did  not  shoot 
to   kill   ancf   the   ball   hit   him   just    where    I 


162  CA STLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

intended  it  should — on  the  chin.  He'll  be 
well  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  True,  he  may  not 
feel  like  eating  tough  beefsteak  with  that  jaw 
for  some  time,  but  1  knew  a  fellow  once  who 
was  able  to  eat  very  comfortably  after  six 
weeks.  That  was  as  good  a  shot  as  I  ever 
made,  Phil,"  said  Dickey,  reflectively. 

"I  think  Buckner's  nose  was  a  cleaner  shot. 
It  wasn't  nearly  so  disgusting,"  said  Phil. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  able  to  hit  a 
man  just  where  you  please?"  demanded  the 
count. 

"Provided  he  does  not  hit  me  first,"  said 
Mr.  Savage.  "Gentlemen,  let  me  order  up  a 
quiet  little  drink.  I  am  afraid  the  unfortunate 
affair  of  last  night  has  twisted  your  nerves  a 
bit.     It  was  rather  ghastly,  wasn't  it?" 

When  the  four  parted  company  in  front  of 
the  hotel,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  two 
Italians  sat  down  to  reflect.  They  wondered 
whether  Mr.  Savage  usually  carried  a  pistol  in 
his  pocket,  and  they  agreed  that  if  he  did 
have  one  of  his  own  he  would  be  much  more 
accurate  with  it  than  with  a  strange  one,  such 
as  he  had  used  the  night  before.  The  two 
Americans  were  not  jubilant  as  they  strolled 
up  the  street.  They  had  put  on  a  very  bold 
front  but  they  were  saying  to  themselves  that 


APPROACH  OF  THE  CRISIS  163 

Kapolski's  death  would  be  a  very  disastrous 
calamity.  Cold  perspiration  stood  on  Dickey's 
brow  and  he  devoutly  prayed  that  his  victim 
would  recover, 

"I'd  feel  like  a  butcher  to  the  last  day  of  my 
life,"  he  groaned. 

"The  big  brute  got  what  he  deserved,  Dickey, 
but  that  isn't  going  to  relieve  us  if  he  should 
die.  Prince  Ugo  would  use  it  as  an  excuse  to 
drive  you  out  of  Europe  and,  of  course,  I 
would  not  desert  you.  It  was  my  affair  and 
you  were  unlucky  enough  to  get  into  it.  There 
is  one  thing  that  puzzles  me.  I  directly 
insulted  Ravorelli  last  night.  Why  does  he 
not  challenge  me?  He  must  be  positive  that  I 
recognize  him  as  Pavesi  and  can  ruin  him  with 
a  word.  I  am  told  he  is  a  remarkable  shot  and 
swordsman,  and  I  don't  believe  he  is  a 
coward." 

"Why  should  he  risk  his  head  or  his  heart  if 
he  can  induce  other  men  to  fight  for  him?" 

"But  it  seems  that  he  has  traitors  in  his 
camp.     I  wonder  who  that  waiter  was?" 

After  a  long  silence  Dickey  dolefully  asked: 
"Say,  do  you  believe  the  Saxondales  turned  me 
down  on  that  shooting  box  party?" 

"I  can't  believe  it.  All  is  well  between  you 
and  Lady  Jane,  of  course?" 


164  CASTLE  CRANE  YCROW 

"As  well  as  it  can  ever  be,"  said  the  other, 
looking  straight  ahead,  his  jaws  set. 

"Oho!     Is  it  all  off?" 

"Is  what  all  off?"  belligerently. 

"O,  if  you  don't  know,  I  won't  insist  on  an 
answer.     I  merely  suspected  a  thickness." 

"That  we  were  getting  thick,  you  mean? 
You  were  never  more  mistaken  in  your  life. 
The  chances  are  I'll  never  see  her  again. 
That's  not  very  thick,  is  it?" 

"I  saw  a  letter  just  now  for  you,  in  my  box 
at  the  hotel.  Looked  like  a  young  woman's 
chirography,  and  it  was  from  London " 

"Why  the  devil  didn't  you  tell  me  it  was 
there?"  exploded  Dickey. 

"Does  Lady  Jane  make  an  R  that  looks  like 
a  streak  of  lightning  with  all  sorts  of  angles?" 

"She  makes  a  very  fashionable — what  do  you 
mean  by  inspecting  my  mail?  Are  you  estab- 
lishing a  censorship?"  Dickey  was  guilty  of  an 
unheard  of  act — for  him.     He  was  blushing. 

"My  boy,  I  did  not  know  it  was  your  prop- 
erty until  after  I  had  carefully  deciphered 
every  letter  in  the  name.  I  agree  with  you; 
she  writes  a  very  fashionable  alphabet.  The 
envelope  looked  thick,  to  say  the  least.  It 
must  contain  a  huge  postscript." 

"Or  a  collection  of  all  the  notes  I  have  writ- 


APPROACH  OF  THE  CRISIS  165 

ten  to  her.  I'll  go  back,  if  you  don't  mind, 
however.    I'm  curious  to  know  who  it's  from." 

Dickey  went  back  to  read  his  voluminous 
letter,  and  Quentin  seated  himself  on  a  bench 
in  the  park.  A  voice  from  behind  brought  him 
sharply  from  a  long  reverie. 

"Mr.  Quentin,  last  night,  possibly  in  the 
heat  of  excitement,  you  inferred  that  I  was  in 
some  way  accountable  for  the  controversy 
which  led  to  the  meeting  between  Prince  Kap- 
olski  and  your  friend.  I  trust  that  I  misunder- 
stood you." 

Quentin  was  on  his  feet  and  facing  Prince 
Ravorelli  before  the  remark  was  fairly  begun, 
and  he  was  thinking  with  greater  rapidity  than 
he  had  ever  thought  before.  He  was  surprised 
to  find  Ugo,  suave  and  polite  as  ever,  deliber- 
ately, coolly  rushing  affairs  to  a  climax.  His 
sudden  decision  to  abandon  the  friendly  spirit 
exhibited  but  half  an  hour  before  was  as  inex- 
plicable as  it  was  critical.  What  fresh  inspira- 
tion had  caused  him  to  alter  his  position? 

"We  say  many  things  when  we  are  under 
stress  of  excitement,"  said  Phil,  sparring  for 
time  and  his  wits.  Count  Sallaconi  was 
standing  deferentially  beside  the  prince.  Both 
r^ntlemen  had  their  hats  in  their  hands,  and 
Liie   air   was    pregnant   with    chill    formality. 


166  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Can  you  recall  my  words,  Prince  Ravorelli?" 

"You  said  that  you  would  hold  him  to 
account  if  your  friend — "  began  the  count, 
but  Quentin  turned  upon  him  coolly. 

"My  quarrel,  if  there  is  one,  is  with  the 
prince.  Count  Sallaconi.  Will  you  kindly 
allow  him  to  jog  his  own  memory?" 

"I  do  not  like  your  tone,  Mr.  Quentin,"  said 
the  count,  his  eyes  flashingly  angrily.  Phil's 
blood  was  up.  He  saw  it  was  useless  to  tem- 
porize, and  there  was  no  necessity  for  disguis- 
ing his  true  feelings.  They  had  come  to  the 
point  where  all  that  had  lain  smothered  and 
dormant  was  to  be  pricked  into  activity;  the 
mask  was  to  be  thrown  down  with  the  gauntlet. 

"So  much  the  better;  you  are  not  in  doubt 
as  to  what  I  meant.  Now,  Prince  Ravorelli, 
may  I  ask  you  to  speak  plainly?" 

"Your  remark  of  last  night  was  one  that  I 
believe  I  would  be  justified  in  resenting,"  said 
the  prince,  flicking  the  ash  from  his  cigarette, 
but  not  taking  his  burning  eyes  from  Quentin's 
face.  There  was  not  a  tinge  of  cowardice  in 
his  eyes. 

"It  is  your  privilege,  sir,  and  I  meant  pre- 
cisely what  I  said." 

"Then  I  have  to  demand  of  you  an  apology 
and  a  satisfctory  explanation." 


APPROACH  OF  THE  CRISIS  167 

"I  presume  it  would  be  travesty  on  politeness 
'if  I  were  to  ask  you  to  be  seated,  so  we  may 
stand  up  to  each  other  and  talk  it  over.  In  the 
first  place,  I  have  no  apology  to  make.  In  the 
second  place,  I  cannot  give  an  explanation 
that  would  be  satisfactory  to  you.  Last  night 
I  said  I  would  hold  you  to  account  if  Mr  Sav- 
age was  hurt.  He  was  not  hurt,  so  I  will  not 
carry  out  my  threat,  if  you  choose  to  call  it 
such." 

"You  enlarge  the  insult,  Mr.  Quentin,"  said 
Ugo,  with  a  deadly  tone  in  his  voice. 

"You  may  as  well  know.  Prince  Ravorelli, 
that  I  have  long  been  acquainted  with  the  fact 
that  you  bear  me  no  good  will.  Frankly,  you 
regard  me  as  a  man  dangerous  to  your  most 
cherished  aspirations,  and  you  know  that  I 
heard  Giovanni  Pavesi  sing  in  days  gone  by. 
You  have  not  been  manly  enough  to  meet  me 
fairly,  up  to  this  instant.  1  am  perfectly  well 
aware  that  Prince  Kapolski  was  your  guest  last 
night  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  bring  about 
an  affray  in  which  I  was  to  have  been  the  vic- 
tim of  his  prowess  and  your  cleverness." 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  glared  at  each 
other,  immovably,  unv/averingly.  Prince  Ugo's 
composure  did  not  suffer  the  faintest  relaxation 
under  the  direct  charge  of  the  American. 


168  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"My  only  reply  to  that  assertion  is  that  you 
lie,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"This  is  a  public  place,  Prince  Ugo.  I  will 
not  knock  you  down  here." 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  give  you  my 
card.  Count  Sallaconi  will  arrange  the  details 
with  any  friend  you  may  name.  You  shall 
give  me  satisfaction  for  the  aspersion  you  have 
cast  upon  my  honor,"  He  was  turning  away 
when  Quentin  stepped  quickly  in  front  of  him. 

"If  you  mean  that  you  expect  me  to  fight  a 
duel  with  you,  I  must  say  you  are  to  suffer  dis- 
appointment. I  do  not  believe  in  duelling, 
and  I  believe  only  in  killing  a  man  when  there 
is  no  other  alternative.  To  deliberately  set 
about  to  shoot  another  man  down  is  not  our 
method  of  settling  an  issue.  We  either  murder 
in  cold  blood  or  we  fight  it  out  like  men,  not 
like  stage  heroes." 

"I  will  add  then,  sir,  that  you  are  a  coward." 

"I  have  been  brave  enough  to  refrain  from 
hiring  men  to  do  my  fighting.  We  will  fight, 
Prince  Ravorelli,  but  we  will  not  fight  with 
weapons  made  by  man.  You  call  me  a  coward 
and  I  call  you  a  scoundrel.  We  have  hands 
and  arms  and  with  them  we  shall  fight." 

"Count  Sallaconi  is  my  second,  I  do  not 
care  to  hear  another  word " 


A  PPROA  CH  OF  THE  CRISIS  169 

"If  Count  Sallaconi  comes  to  me  with  any 
ridiculous  challenge  from  you,  I'll  knock  him 
down  and  kick  him  across  the  street.  My 
friend  shot  the  face  off  of  your  poor  tool  last 
night.  I  do  not  care  to  repeat  the  tragedy, 
I  shall  not  strike  you  here  and  now,  because 
the  act  might  mean  my  arrest  and  detention 
on  no  one  knows  what  sort  of  a  trumped-up 
charge.  You  need  not  bother  me  with  any  silly 
twaddle  about  swords  and  pistols  I  shall  pay 
no  attention  to  it.  Ordinarily  Americans  do 
not  delay  actual  combat.  We  usually  fight  it 
out  on  the  spot  and  the  best  man  wins.  I  will, 
however,  give  you  the  chance  to  deliberate 
over  my  proposition  to  settle  our  differences 
with  our  hands." 

Ravorelli  calmly  heard  him  to  the  end.  Then 
he  turned  and  strode  away,  smiling  derisively. 

"You  are  the  only  American  coward  I  have 
ever  seen.  I  trust  you  appreciate  the  distinc- 
tion," he  said,  his  white  teeth  showing  in  mali- 
cious ridicule.  "Your  friend,  the  hero  of  last 
night,  should  be  proud  of  you." 

Quentin  watched  them  until  they  were  lost 
in  the  crowd  near  the  Palace,  his  brain  full  of 
many  emotions.  As  he  walked  into  the  hotel 
his  only  thought  was  of  Dorothy  and  the  effect 
the  quarrel  would  have  on  their  friendship. 


170  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Which  will  she  choose?"  he  mused,  after 
narrating  to  Savage  the  episode  of  the  park. 
For  the  first  time  Dickey  noticed  the  pallor  in 
his  face,  the  despair  in  his  eyes,  the  wistful 
lines  about  his  lips. 

"There's  only  one  way  to  find  out,  old  man," 
said  he,  and  he  did  not  succeed  in  disguising 
the  hopelessness  in  his  voice. 

"Yes,  I  guess  I'm  up  to  the  last  trench.  I'm 
right  where  I  have  to  make  the  final  stand, 
let  the  result  be  what  it  may,"  said  the  other, 
dejectedly. 

"Don't  give  up,  Phil.  If  you  are  to  win,  it 
will  take  more  courage  than  you  are  showing 
now.  A  bold  front  will  do  more  than  anything 
else  just  at  this  stage.  The  result  depends  not 
entirely  on  how  eager  she  is  to  become  a 
princess,  but  how  much  she  cares  for  the  man 
who  cannot  make  her  a  princess." 

"There's  the  rub.  Does  she  care  enough  for 
me?" 

"Have  you  asked  her  how  much  she  cares?" 

"No." 

"Then,  don't  ask.  Merely  go  and  tell  her 
that  you  know  how  much  she  cares.  Go  this 
afternoon,  old  man.  O,  by  the  way,  Lady 
Jane  sends  her  love  to  you,  and  wants  to  know 
if  you  will  come  with  me  to  Ostend  to-morrow 
to  meet  her  and  Lady  Saxondale." 


XVI 

THE   COURAGE  OF  A    COWARD 

"Tell  Mr.  Quentin  I  cannot  see  him,"  was 
Miss  Garrison's  response  when  his  card  was 
sent  to  her  late  that  afternoon.  The  man  who 
waited  nervously  in  the  hall  was  stunned  by 
this  biief,  summary  dismissal.  If  he  was 
hurt,  bewildered  by  the  stinging  rebuff,  his 
wounds  would  have  been  healed  instantly  had 
he  seen  the  sender  of  that  cruel  message.  She 
sat,  weak,  pale  and  distressed,  before  her  escri- 
toire, striving  to  put  her  mind  and  her  heart  to 
the  note  she  was  writing  to  him  whose  card, 
by  strange  coincidence,  had  just  come  up.  An 
hour  ago  he  was  in  her  thoughts  so  differently 
and  he  was  in  her  heart,  how  deeply  she  had 
not  realized,  until  there  came  the  crash  which 
shattered  the  ideal.     He  was  a  coward! 

Prince  Ugo  had  been  out  of  her  presence 
not  more  than  ten  minutes,  leaving  her 
stunned,  horrified,  crushed  by  the  story  he 
laughingly  told,  when  Quentin  was  announced. 
What  she  heard  from  Ugo  overwhelmed  her. 
She  had  worshiped,  unknown  to  herself,  the 
very  thing  in  Philip  Quentin  that  had  been 
171 


172  CA  STLE  CRA  NEYCRO  W 

destroyed  almost  before  her  eyes — his  manli- 
ness, his  courage,  his  strength.  Ugo  deliber- 
ately told  of  the  duel  in  his  rooms,  of  Savage's 
heroism  in  taking  up  the  battles  of  his  timor- 
ous friend,  of  his  own  challenge  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  of  Quentin's  abject,  cringing  refusal 
to  fight.  How  deliciously  he  painted  the  por- 
trait of  the  coward  without  exposing  his  true 
motive  in  doing  so,  can  only  be  appreciated 
when  it  is  said  that  Dorothy  Garrison  came  to 
despise  the  object  of  his  ridicule. 

She  forgot  his  encounter  with  the  porch  vis- 
itor a  fortnight  previous;  she  forgot  that  the 
wound  inflicted  on  that  occasion  was  scarcely 
healed;  she  forgot  all  but  his  disgraceful 
behavior  in  the  presence  of  that  company  of 
nobles  and  his  cowardice  when  called  to 
account  by  one  brave  man.  And  he  an  Amer- 
ican, a  man  from  her  own  land,  from  the  side 
of  the  world  on  which,  she  had  boasted,  there 
lived  none  but  the  valorous.  This  man  was  the 
one  to  whom,  a  week  ago,  she  had  personally 
addressed  an  invitation  to  the  wedding  in  St. 
Gudule — the  envelope  was  doubtless  in  his 
pocket  now,  perhaps  above  his  heart — and  the 
writing  of  his  name  at  that  time  had  brought 
to  her  the  deadly,  sinking  realization  that  he 
was  more  to  her  than  she  had  thought. 


THE  CO  URACE  OF  A  CO  WARD         173 

"Tell  Miss  Garrison  that,  if  it  is  at  all  possi- 
ble, I  must  see  her  at  once,"  said  Quentin  to 
the  bearer  of  the  message.  He  was  cold  with 
apprehension,  hot  with  humiliation. 

"Miss  Garrison  cannot  see  you,"  said  the 
man,  returning  from  his  second  visit  to  the 
room  above.  Even  the  servant  spoke  with  a 
curtness  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  meant 
dismissal,  cold  and  decisive,  with  no  explana- 
tion, no  excuse. 

He  left  the  house  with  his  ears  burning,  his 
nerves  tingling,  his  brain  whirling.  What  had 
caused  this  astonishing  change?  Why  had  she 
turned  against  him  so  suddenly,  so  strangely? 
Prince  Ugo!  The  truth  flashed  into  his  mind 
with  startling  force,  dispelling  all  uncertainty, 
all  doubt.  Her  lover  had  forstalled  him,  had 
requested  or  demanded  his  banishment  and  she 
had  acquiesced,  with  a  heartlessness  that  was 
beyond  belief.  He  had  been  mistaken  as  to 
the  extent  of  her  regard  for  him;  he  had  mis- 
judged the  progress  of  his  wooing;  he  awoke 
to  the  truth  that  her  heart  was  impregnable  and 
that  he  had  not  so  much  as  approached  the 
citadel  of  her  love. 

Dickey  was  pacing  their  rooms  excitedly 
when  Quentin  entered.  Turk  stared  gloomily 
from  the  open  window,  and  there  was  a  sort  of 


174  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

savageness  in  his  silent,  sturdy  back  that 
bespoke  volumes  of  restraint. 

"Good  Lord,  Phil,  everybody  knows  you 
have  refused  to  fight  the  prince.  The  news- 
paper men  have  been  here  and  they  have  tried 
to  pump  me  dry.  Turk  says  one  of  the  men 
downstairs  is  telling  everybody  that  you  are 
afraid  of  Ravorelli.  What  are  we  going  to 
do?"  He  stopped  before  the  newcomer  and 
there  was  reproach  in  his  manner.  Quentin 
dejectedly  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and 
stared  at  the  floor  in  silence. 

"Turk!"  he  called  at  last.  "I  want  you  to 
carry  a  note  to  Miss  Garrison,  and  I  want  you 
to  make  sure  that  she  reads  it.  I  don't  know 
how  the  devil  you  are  to  do  it,  but  you  must. 
Don't  bother  me,  Dickey.  I  don't  care  a  con- 
tinental what  the  fellow  downstairs  says;  I've 
got  something  else  to  think  about."  He  threw 
open  the  lid  to  one  of  his  trunks  and  ruthlessly 
grabbed  up  some  stationery.  In  a  minute  he 
was  at  the  table,  writing.  ' 

"Is  Kapolski  dead?"  asked  Dickey. 

"I  don't  know  and  don't  care.  I'll  explain 
in  a  minute.  Sit  down  somewhere  and  don't 
stare,  Dickey — for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  stare 
like  a  scared  baby."  He  completed  the  fever- 
ishly written  note,    sealed  the  envelope,   and 


THE  COURAGE  OF  A  CO  WARD         175 

thrust  it  into  Turk's  hands.  "Now,  get  that 
note  to  her,  or  don't  come  back  to  me  Be 
quick  about  it,  too." 

Turk  was  off,  full  of  fresh  wonder  and  the 
importance  of  his  mission.  Quentin  took  a 
few  turns  up  and  down  the  room  before  he 
remembered  that  he  owed  some  sort  of  an 
explanation  to  his  companion. 

"She  wouldn't  see  me,"  he  said,  briefly. 

"What's  the  matter?     Sick?" 

"No  explanation.  Just  wouldn't  see  me, 
that's  all." 

"Which  means  it's  all  off,  eh?  The  prince 
got  there  first  and  spiked  your  guns.  Well? 
What  have  you  written  to  her?" 

"That  I  am  going  to  see  her  to-night  if  I 
have  to  break  into  the  house." 

"Bravely  done!  Good!  And  you'll  awake 
in  a  dungeon  cell  to-morrow  morning,  clubbed 
to  a  pulp  by  the  police.  You  may  break  into 
the  house,  but  it  will  be  just  your  luck  to  be 
unable  to  break  out  of  jail  in  time  for  the  wed- 
ding on  the  i6th.  What  you  need  is  a  guar- 
dian." 

"I'm  in  no  humor  for  joking,  Dickey." 

"It  won't  be  a  joke,  my  boy.  Now,  tell  me 
just  what  you  wrote  to  her.  Gad,  I  never 
knew  what  trouble  meant  until  I  struck  Brus- 


1 76  CA  STLE  CRANEYCRO  W 

sels.  The  hot  water  here  is  scalding  me  to  a 
creamy  consistency." 

"I  simply  said  that  she  had  no  right  to  treat 
me  as  she  did  to-day  and  that  she  shall  listen 
to  me.  I  ended  the  note  by  saying  I  would 
come  to  her  to-night,  and  that  I  would  not  be 
driven  away  until  I  had  seen  her." 

"You  can't  see  her  if  she  refuses  to  receive 
you." 

"But  she  will  see  me.  She's  *air  enough  to 
give  me  a  chance." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  accompany  you?" 

"I  intend  to  go  alone." 

"You  will  find  Ugo  there,  you  know.  It  is 
bound  to  be  rather  trying,  Phil.  Besides,  you 
are  not  sure  that  Turk  can  deliver  the  note. 

"I'd  like  to  have  Ravorelli  hear  everything 
I  have  to  say  to  her,  and  if  he's  there  he'll 
hear  a  few  things  he  will  not  relish." 

"And  he'll  laugh  at  you,  too." 

An  hour  later  Turk  returned.  He  was  grin- 
ning broadly  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"Did  you  succeed?"  demanded  Quentin, 
leaping  to  his  feet.  For  answer  the  little  man 
daintily,  gingerly  dropped  a  small  envelope 
into  his  hand. 

"She  says  to  give  th'  note  to  you  an'  to 
nobody  else,"  he  said,  triumphantly.    Quentin 


THE  CO  URA GE  OF  A  CO  WARD        177 

hesitated  an  instant  before  tearing  open  the 
envelope,  the  contents  of  which  meant  so 
much  to  him.  As  he  read,  the  gloom  lifted 
from  his  face  and  his  figure  straightened  to  its 
full  height.  The  old  light  came  back  to  his 
eyes. 

"She  says  I  may  come,  Dickey.  I  knew  she 
would,"  he  exclaimed,  joyously. 

"When?" 

"At  nine  to-night." 

''Is  that  all  she  says?" 

"Well — er — no.  She  says  she  will  see  me 
for  the  last  time." 

"Not  very  comforting,  I  should  say." 
'I'll  risk  it's  being  the  last  time.  I  tell  you, 
Savage,  I'm  desperate.  This  damnable  game 
has  gone  far  enough.  She'll  know  the  truth 
about  the  man  she's  going  to  marry.  If  she 
wants  to  marry  him  after  what  I  tell  her,  I'll — 
I'll— well,  I'll  give  it  up,  that's  all." 

"If  she  believes  what  you  tell  her,  she  won't 
care  to  marry  him." 

"She  knows  I'm  not  a  liar,  Dickey,  confound 
you." 

"Possibly;  but  she  is  hardly  fool  enough  to 
break  with  the  prince  unless  you  produce  some- 
thing more  substantial  than  your  own  accusa- 
tion.    Where  is  your  proof?" 


i?^  CASTLE  CRANEYCRO  W 

This  led  to  an  argument  that  lasted  until  the 
time  came  for  him  to  go  to  her  home  When 
he  left  the  hotel  in  a  cab  he  was  thoroughly- 
unstrung,  but  more  determined  than  ever.  As 
if  by  magic,  there  came  to  life  the  forces  ot 
the  prince.  While  Ugo  sat  calmly  in  his 
apartment,  his  patient  agents  were  dogging 
the  man  he  feared,  dogging  him  with  the  per- 
sistence and  glee  of  biood-hounds.  Courant 
and  his  hirelings,  two  of  them,  garbed  as  city 
watchmen,  were  on  the  Avenue  Louise  almost 
as  soon  as  the  man  they  were  watching.  By 
virtue  of  fate  and  the  obstinacy  of  one  Dickey 
Savage,  two  of  Quentin's  supporters,  in  direct 
disobedience  of  his  commands,  were  whirling 
toward  the  spot  on  which  so  many  minds  were 
centered.  From  a  distance  Savage  and  Turk 
saw  him  rush  from  the  carriage  and  up  the 
broad  stone  steps  that  led  to  the  darkened 
veranda.  From  other  points  of  view,  Jules 
Courant  and  his  men  saw  the  same  and  the  for- 
mer knew  that  Turk's  visit  in  the  afternoon  had 
resulted  in  the  granting  of  an  interview.  No 
sooner  had  Quentin  entered  the  house  than  a 
man  was  despatched  swiftly  to  inform  Prince 
Ugo  that  he  had  not  been  denied. 

Mrs;  Garrison  met  him  in  the  hall  alone. 
There  was  defiance  in  her  manner,  but  he  had 


THE  COURAGE  OF  A  CO  WARD         179 

not  come  thus  far  to  be  repulsed  by  such  a 
trifle  as  her  opposition.  With  rare  cordiality- 
he  advanced  and  extended  his  hand. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Garrison.  I  hardly 
expected  to  find  you  and  Dorothy  quite  alone 
at  this  time  of  night."  She  gave  him  her 
hand  involuntarily.  He  had  a  way  about  him 
and  she  forgot  her  resolve  under  its  influence. 
There  was  no  smile  on  her  cold  face,  however. 

"We  are  usually  engaged  at  this  hour,  Mr. 
Quentin,  but  to-night  we  are  at  home  to  no 
one  but  you,"  she  said,  meaningly. 

"It's  very  good  of  you.  Perhaps  I  would 
better  begin  by  ending  your  suspense.  Doro- 
thy refused  to  see  me  to-day  and  I  suspect  the 
cause.  I  am  here  for  an  explanation  from  her 
because  I  think  it  is  due  me.  I  came  also  to 
tell  you  that  I  love  her  and  to  ask  her  if  she 
loves  me.  If  she  does  not,  I  have  but  to 
retire,  first  apologizing  for  what  you  may  call 
reprehensibility  on  my  part  in  presuming  to 
address  her  on  such  a  matter  when  I  know  she 
is  the  promised  wife  of  another.  If  she  loves 
me,  I  shall  have  the  honor  to  ask  you  for  her 
hand,  and  to  ask  her  to  terminate  an  engage- 
ment with  a  man  she  does  not  love.  I  trust 
my  mission  here  to-night  is  fully  understood." 

"It  is  very  plain  to  me,  Mr.  Quentin,  and  I 


180  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

may  be  equally  frank   with   you.     It   is  use- 
less  " 

"You  will  of  course  permit  me  to  hear  that 
from  the  one  who  has  the  right  to  decide,"  he 
said. 

"My  daughter  consented  to  receive  you  only 
because  I  advised  her  to  do  so.  I  will  not 
speak  now  of  your  unusual  and  unwarranted 
behavior  during  the  past  month,  nor  will  I 
undertake  to  say  how  much  annoyance  and  dis- 
pleasure you  have  caused.  She  is  the  affianced 
wife  of  Prince  Ravorelli  and  she  marries  him 
because  she  loves  him.  I  have  given  you  her 
decision."  For  a  moment  their  eyes  met  like 
the  clashing  of  swords. 

"Has  she  commissioned  you  to  say  this  to 
me?"  he  asked,  his  eyes  penetrating  like  a 
knife. 

"I  am  her  mother,  not  her  agent." 

"Then  I  shall  respectfully  insist  that  she 
speak  for  herself."  If  a  look  could  kill  a  man, 
hers  would  have  been  guilty  of  murder. 

"She  is  coming  now,  Mr.  Quentin,  You 
have  but  a  moment  of  doubt  left.  She  despises 
you."  For  the  first  time  his  composure  wav- 
ered, and  his  lips  parted,  as  if  to  exclaim 
against  such  an  assumption.  But  Dorothy  was 
already  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  pale,  cold  and 


THE  CO  URAGE  OF  A  CO  WARD        181 

unfriendly.  She  was  the  personification  of  a 
tragedy  queen  as  she  paused  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  her  nand  on  the  newell  post,  the  lights 
from  abo/e  shining  directly  into  a  face  so  dis- 
dainful that  he  could  hardly  believe  it  was 
hers.  There  was  no  warmth  in  her  voice  when 
she  spoke  to  him,  who  stood  immovable, 
speechless,  before  her. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me,  Phil?" 

"I  have  first  to  ask  if  you  despise  me,"  he 
found  voice  to  say. 

"I  decline  to  answer  that  question." 

"Your  mother  has  said  so." 

"She  should  not  have  done  so." 

"Then  she  has  misrepresented  you?"  he 
cried,  taking  several  steps  toward  her. 

"I  did  not  say  that  she  had." 

"Dorothy,  what  do  you  mean  by  this?  What 
right  have  you  to — "  he  began,  fiercely. 

"Mr.  Quentin!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Garrison, 
haughtily. 

"Well,"  cried  he,  at  bay  and  doggedly,  "I 
must  know  the  truth.  Will  you  come  to  the 
veranda  with  me,  Dorothy?" 

"No,"  she  replied,  without  a  quaver. 

"I  must  talk  with  you  alone.  What  I  have 
to  say  is  of  the  gravest  importance.  It  is  for 
your  welfare,  and  I  shall  leave  my  own  feel- 


162  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

ings  out  of  it,  if  you  like.  But  I  must  and 
will  say  what  I  came  here  to  say." 

"There  is  nothing  that  I  care  tc  hear  from 
you." 

"By  all  that's  holy,  you  shall  hear  it,  and 
alone,  too,"  he  exclaimed  so  commandingly 
that  both  women  started.  He  caught  a  quick 
flutter  in  Dorothy's  eyes  and  saw  the  impulse 
that  moved  her  lips  almost  to  the  point  of  part- 
ing, "I  demand — yes,  demand — to  be  heard. 
Come!     Dorothy,  for  God's  sake, come!" 

He  was  at  her  side  and,  before  she  could 
prevent  it,  had  grasped  her  hand  in  his  own. 
All  resistance  was  swept  away  like  chaff  before 
the  whirlwind.  The  elder  woman  so  far  forgot 
her  cold  reserve  as  to  blink  her  austere  eyesj 
while  Dorothy  caught  her  breath,  looked  star- 
tled and  suffered  herself  to  be  led  to  the 
door  without  a  word  of  protest.  There  he 
paused  and  turned  to  Mrs.  Garrison,  whose 
thunderstruck  countenance  was  afterward  the 
subject  of  more  or  less  amusement  to  him, 
and,  if  the  truth  were  known,  to  her  daughter. 

"When  I  have  said  all  that  I  have  to  say  to 
her,  Mrs.  Garrison,  I'll  bring  her  back  to  you," 

Neither  he  nor  Dorothy  uttered  a  word  until 
they  stood  before  each  other  in  the  dark  palm- 
surrounded   nook   where,    on   one   memorable 


THE  CO  URAGE  OF  A  CO  WARD         183 

night,  he  had  felt  the  first  savage  blow  of  the 
enemy. 

"Dorothy,  there  can  no  longer  be  any  dis- 
sembling. I  love  you.  You  have  doubtless 
known  it  for  weeks  and  weeks.  It  will  avail 
you  nothing  to  deny  that  you  love  me.  I  have 
seen — "  he  was  charging,   hastily,   feverishly. 

"I  do  deny  it.  How  dare  you  make  such  an 
assertion?"  she  cried,  hotly. 

"I  said  it  would  avail  you  nothing  to  deny 
it,  but  I  expected  the  denial.  You  have  not 
forgotten  those  dear  days  when  we  were  boy 
and  girl.  We  both  thought  they  had  gone  from 
us  forever,  but  we  were  mistaken  To-day  I 
love  you  as  a  man  loves,  only  as  a  man  can 
love  who  has  but  one  woman  in  his  world. 
Sit  here  beside  me,  Dorothy." 

"I  will  not!"  she  exclaimed,  trembling  in 
every  fiber,  but  he  gently,  firmly  took  her  arm 
and  drew  her  to  the  wicker  bench.  "I  hate 
you,  Philip  Quentin!"  she  half  sobbed,  the 
powerlessness  to  resist  infuriating  her  beyond 
expression. 

"Forget  that  I  was  rough  or  harsh,  dear. 
Sit  still,"  he  cried,  as  at  the  word  of  endear- 
ment she  attempted  to  rise. 

"You  forget  yourself!  You  forget — — "  was 
all  she  could  say. 


184  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

"Why  did  you  refuse  to  see  me  this  after- 
noon?" he  asked,  heedlessly. 

"Because  I  believed  you  to  be  what  I  now 
know  you  are,"  she  said,  turning  on  him 
quickly,  a  look  of  scorn  in  her  eyes. 

"Your  adorer?"  he  half-whispered. 

"A  coward!"  she  said,  slowly,  distinctly. 

"Coward?''  he  gasped,  unwilling  to  believe 
his  ears.  "What — I  know  I  may  deserve  the 
word  now,  but — but  this  afternoon?  What  do 
you  mean?" 

"Your  memory  is  very  short." 

"Don't  speak  in  riddles,  Dorothy,"  he 
cried. 

"You  know  how  I  loathe  a  coward,  and  I 
thought  you  were  a  brave  man.  When  I  heard 
— when  I  was  told — O,  it  does  not  seem  possi- 
ble that  you  could  be  so  craven." 

"Tell  me  what  you  have  heard,"  he  said, 
calmly,  divining  the  truth. 

"Why  did  you  let  Dickey  Savage  fight  for 
you  last  night?  Where  was  your  manhood? 
Why  did  you  slink  away  from  Prince  Ravorelli 
this  morning?"  she  said,  intensely. 

"Who  has  told  you  all  this?"  he  demanded. 

"No  matter  who  has  told  me.  You  did  play 
the  part  of  a  coward.  What  else  can  you  call 
it?" 


THE  COURAGE  OF  A  COWARD        185 

"I   did   not  have  the    chance    to   fight    last 
night;    your   informant's    plans   went    wrong 
Dickey  was  my  unintentional  substitute.     As 
for  Ravorelli's  challenge  this  morning,  I  did 
not  refuse  to  meet  him." 

"That  is  untrue!" 

"I  declined  to  fight  the  duel  with  him,  but 
I  said  I  would  fight  as  we  do  at  home,  with  my 
hands.  Would  you  have  me  meet  him  with 
deadly  weapons?" 

"I  only  know  that  you  refused  to  do  so,  and 
that  Brussels  calls  you  a  coward," 

"You  would  have  had  me  accept  his  chal- 
lenge?   Answer!" 

"You  lost  every  vestige  of  my  respect  by 
refusing  to  do  so." 

"Then  you  wanted  me  to  meet  and  to  kill 
him,"  he  said,  accusingly. 

"I — I — Oh,  it  would  not  have  meant  that," 
she  gasped. 

"Did  you  want  him  to  kill  me?"  he  went  on, 
relentlessly. 

"They  would  have  prevented  the  duel!  It 
could  not  have  gone  so  far  as  that,'  she  said, 
trembling  and  terrified. 

"You  know  better  than  that,  Dorothy.  I 
would  have  killed  him  had  we  met.  Do  you 
understand?    I  would  have  killed  the  man  you 


186  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

expect  to  marry.  Have  you  thought  of  that?" 
She  sank  back  in  the  seat  and  looked  at  him 
dumbly,  horror  in  her  face.  "That  is  one 
reason  why  I  laughed  at  his  ridiculous  chal- 
lenge. How  could  I  hope  to  claim  the  love  of 
the  woman  whose  affianced  husband  I  had 
slain?  I  can  win  you  with  him  alive,  but  I 
would  have  built  an  insurmountable  barrier 
between  us  had  he  died  by  my  hand.  Could 
you  have  gone  to  the  altar  with  him  if  he  had 
killed  me?" 

"O,  Phil,"  she  whispered. 

"Another  reason  why  I  refused  to  accept  his 
challenge  was  that  I  could  not  fight  a  cur." 

"Phil  Quentin!"  she  cried,  indignantly. 

"I  came  here  to  tell  you  the  truth  about  the 
man  you  have  promised  to  marry.  You  shall 
hear  me  to  the  end,  too.  He  is  as  black  a 
coward,  as  mean  a  scoundrel  as  ever  came  into 
the  world." 

Despite  her  protests,  despite  her  angry 
denials,  he  told  her  the  story  of  Ugo's  plotting, 
from  the  hour  when  he  received  the  mysterious 
warning  to  the  moment  when  he  entered  her 
home  that  evening.  As  he  proceeded  hotly  to 
paint  the  prince  in  colors  ugly  and  revolting 
she  grew  calmer,  colder.  At  the  end  she  met 
his  flaming  gaze  steadily. 


THE  COURAGE  OF  A  CO  WARD         187 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  this?"  she 
asked. 

"I  mean  that  you  shall,"  he  said,  impera- 
tively.     "It  is  the  truth." 

"If  you  have  finished  this  vile  story  you  may 
go.  I  cannot  forgive  myself  for  listening  to 
you.  How  contemptible  you  are,"  she  said, 
arising  and  facing  him  with  blazing  eyes.  He 
came  to  his  feet  and  met  the  look  of  scorn 
with  one  which  sent  conviction  to  her  soul. 

"I  have  told  you  the  truth,  Dorothy,"  he 
said,  simply.  The  light  in  her  eyes  changed 
perceptibly.  "You  know  I  am  not  a  liar,  and 
you  know  I  am  not  a  coward.  Every  drop  of 
blood  in  my  veins  sings  out  its  love  for  you. 
Rather  than  see  you  marry  this  man  I  would 
kill  him,  as  you  advise,  even  though  it  cost  me 
my  happiness.  You  have  heard  me  out,  and 
you  know  in  your  heart  that  I  have  told  the 
truth." 

"I  cannot,  I  will  not  believe  it!  He  is  the 
noblest  of  men,  and  he  loves  me.  You  do  not 
know  how  he  loves  me.  I  will  not  believe 
you,"  she  murmured,  and  he  knew  his  story 
had  found  a  home.  She  sank  to  the  seat  again 
and  put  her  hand  to  her  throat,  as  if  choking. 
Her  eyes  were  upon  the  strong  face  above  her, 
and  her  heart  raced  back  to  the  hour  not  far 


188  CA  STLE  CRA  NEYCRO  W 

gone  when  It  whispered  to  itself  that  she  loved 
the  sweetheart  of  other  days. 

"Dorothy,  do  you  love  me?"  he  whispered, 
dropping  to  her  side,  taking  her  hand  in  his. 
"Have  you  not  loved  me  all  these  days  and 
nights?" 

"You  must  not  ask — you  must  not  ask,"  she 
whispered. 

"But  I  do  ask.     You  love  me?" 

"No!"  she  cried,  recovering  herself  with  a 
mighty  effort.  "Listen!  I  did  love  you — yes. 
I  loved  you — until  to-day.  You  filled  me  with 
your  old  self,  you  conquered  and  I  was  griev- 
ing myself  to  madness  over  it  all.  But,  I  do 
not  love  you  now!  You  must  go!  I  do  not 
believe  what  you  have  said  of  him  and  I 
despise  you!     Go!" 

"Dorothy!"  he  cried,  as  she  sped  past  him. 
"Think  what  you  are  saying!" 

"Good-by!  Go!  I  hate  you!"  she  cried,  and 
was  gone.  For  a  moment  he  stood  as  if  turned 
to  stone.  Then  there  came  a  rush  of  glad  life 
to  his  heart  and  he  could  have  shouted  in  his 
jubilance. 

"God,  she  loves  me!  I  was  not  too  late! 
She  shall  be  mine!"  He  dashed  into  the 
house,  but  the  closing  of  a  door  upstairs  told 
him  she  was  beyond  his  reach.     The  hall  was 


THE  CO  URA  GE  OF  A  CO  WA  RD        189 

empty;  Mrs.  Garrison  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Filled  with  the  new  fire,  the  new  courage,  he 
clutched  his  hat  from  the  chair  on  which  he 
had  thrown  it  and  rushed  forth  into  the  night. 

At  the  top  of  the  steps  he  met  Prince  Ugo. 
The  two  men  stopped  stockstill,  within  a  yard 
of  each  other,  and  neither  spoke  for  the  long- 
est of  minutes. 

"You  call  rather  late,  prince,"  said  Phil,  a 
double  meaning  in  his  words. 

"Dog!"  hissed  the  prince. 

"Permit  me  to  inform  you  that  Miss  Gar- 
rison has  retired.  It  will  save  you  the  trouble 
of  ringing.      Good-night." 

He  bowed,  laughed  sarcastically,  and  v/as  off 
down  the  steps.  Ravorelli's  hand  stole  to  an 
inside  pocket  and  a  moment  later  the  light 
from  the  window  flashed  on  a  shining  thing  in 
his  fingers.  He  did  not  shoot,  but  Quentin 
never  knew  how  near  he  was  to  death  at  the 
hand  of  the  silent  statue  that  stood  there  and 
watched  him  until  he  was  lost  in  the  shadows. 
Then  the  prince  put  his  hand  suddenly  to  his 
eyes,  moaned  as  if  in  pain,  and  slowly 
descended  the  steps. 


XVII 

A   FEW  MEN  AND   A    WOMAN 

A  stealthy  figure  joined  his  highness  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps,  coming  from  the  darkness 
below  the  veranda.  It  was  Courant.  What 
he  said  to  the  prince  when  they  were  safely 
away  from  the  house  caused  the  Italian's  face 
to  pale  and  his  hands  to  twitch  with  rage.  The 
French  detective  had  heard  and  understood  the 
conversation  of  the  man  and  woman  on  the 
porch,  and  he  had  formed  conclusions  that 
drove  all  doubt  from  the  mind  of  the  noble 
lover. 

Quentin  looked  up  and  down  the  street  for 
his  cab.  It  was  not  in  sight,  but  he  remem- 
bered telling  the  man  to  drive  to  the  corner 
below.  The  rainstorm  that  had  been  threaten- 
ing dry  and  dusty  Brussels  all  day  was  begin- 
ning to  show  itself  in  marked  form.  There 
were  distant  rumbles  of  thunder  and  faint 
flashes  of  lightning,  and  now  and  then  the 
wind,  its  velocity  increasing .  every  minute, 
dashed  a  splattering  raindrop  in  one  s  face. 
The  storm  for  which  the  city  had  been  crying 
190 


A  FEW  MEN  AND  A    WOMAN        191 

was  hurling  itself  along-  from  the  sea,  and  its 
full  fury  was  almost  ready  to  break.  The  few 
pedestrians  were  scurrying  homeward,  the  tram 
cars  were  loaded  and  many  cabs  whirled  by  in 
the  effort  to  land  their  fares  at  home  before 
the  rain  fell  in  torrents.  Phil  drank  in  the 
cool,  refreshing  breeze  and  cared  not  if  it 
rained  until  the  streets  were  flooded.  At  the 
corner  stood  a  cab,  the  driver  softly  swearing 
to  himself.  He  swung  down  and  savagely 
jerked  open  the  door, 

"Back  to  the  Bellevue,"  said  the  fare  airily, 
as  he  climbed  into  the  vehicle.  The  cab  had 
started  off  into  a  cross-street,  when  Phil  imag- 
ined he  heard  a  shout  in  the  distance.  He 
looked  forth  but  could  see  no  one  in  the  rush- 
ing darkness.  The  rattle  of  the  cab,  the  grow- 
ing roar  of  the  night  and  the  swish  of  the  rain, 
which  was  now  falling  quite  heavily,  drowned 
all  other  sounds  and  he  leaned  back  content- 
edly. 

Suddenly  the  cab  came  to  a  stop,  loud  voices 
were  heard  outside  and  he  was  about  to  throw 
open  the  door  when  a  heavy  body  was  flung 
against  the  side  of  the  vehicle.  The  next 
instant  the  half-lowered  glass  in  the  door  was 
shattered  and  a  voice  from  the  rainy  night 
cried; 


192  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

"Don't  resist  or  you  will  be  shot  to  pieces,*' 

"What  the  dev "  gasped  Quentin,  barely 

able  to  distinguish  the  form  of  a  man  at  the 
door.  Some  strange  influence  told  him  that 
the  point  of  a  revolver  was  almost  touching 
his  breast  and  the  word  died  in  his  mouth. 

"No  outcry,  ]\lonsieur.  Your  valuables  with- 
out a  struggle.  Be  quick!  There  are  many 
of  us.  You  have  no  chance,"  came  the  hard 
voice,  in  good  English. 

"But  I  have  no  valuables " 

"Your  diamond  ring  and  your  watch,  at 
least,  monsieur.  The  ring  is  in  your  vest 
pocket." 

"Search  me,  you  scoundrel!  I  have  no  ring, 
and  my  watch  is  in  my  room.  I'm  mighty 
slim  picking  for  such  noted  gentlemen  as  you. 
I  presume  I  have  the  honor  of  meeting  the 
diamond  collectors  the  town  is  talking  so  much 
about."  He  was  now  aware  of  the  presence 
of  another  man  in  the  opposite  window, 
and  there  was  the  same  uncanny  feeling 
that  a  second  revolver  was  levelled  at  his  per- 
son. 

"Step  outside.  Monsieur.  It  is  cruel  to  force 
you  into  the  rain,  but  we  assure  you  it  is  very 
refreshing.  It  will  make  you  grow.  What- 
ever you  choose  to  call  us  we  are  wet  to  the 


A  FEW  MEN  AND  A    WOMAN         193 

skin.  This  must  not,  therefore,  be  a  fruitless 
job.     Step  forth,  quickly,  and  do  not  resist." 

Quentin  hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  then 
seeing  resistance  was  useless,  boldly  set  foot 
upon  the  curbing.  A  flash  of  lightning 
revealed  four  or  five  men  in  the  group.  One 
of  them  had  the  driver  covered  with  a  pistol, 
and  two  of  them  were  ready  to  seize  the  pas- 
senger. He  observed,  with  amazement,  that 
one  of  the  men  was  a  policeman  in  full 
uniform. 

"Officer!"  he  exclaimed,  "Don't  you  see 
what  they  are  doing?" 

"O,  Monsieur,"  said  the  spokesman,  pleas- 
antly, "you  may  tell  the  police  of  Brussels 
that  they  cannot  hunt  us  down  until  they  hunt 
themselves  down.  What's  that?  A  carriage? 
Quick!     Your  watch,  your  ring!" 

Far  down  the  street  could  be  seen  the  lamps 
of  an  approaching  cab,  and  Ouentir's  heart 
took  a  bound.  He  had  not  feared  ii  jury,  for 
he  was  willing  to  submit  to  the  searching  with- 
out resistance,  but  now  he  thrilled  with  the 
excitement  of  possible  conflict.  A  second 
flash  in  the  sky  revealed  altered  conditions  in 
the  setting  of  the  tragic  scene.  The  driver 
was  on  his  box  and  the  policeman  was  climb- 
ing up  beside  him.     A  short  man,  masked  to 


194  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  IV 

the  chin,  had  pushed  aside  the  man  with  the 
revolver  and  a  harsh  voice  cried  as  the  dark- 
ness shut  out  the  vivid  picture: 
"Short  work  of  him!  The  knife!" 
"The  club,  Carl!  Hell!  Into  the  cab  with 
him!"  shouted  another  voice,  and  Phil  began 
to  strike  out  with  his  fists.  But  the  attack  was 
too  sharp,  the  odds  too  great.  Something 
crashed  down  upon  his  head,  he  felt  himself 
lunge  backward  into  the  open  cab  door,  and 
then  a  heavy  body  hurled  itself  upon  his  half- 
prostrate  form.  Another  stinging  blow  caught 
him  over  the  ear,  and,  as  he  lost  consciousness, 
a  tremendous  force  seemed  to  be  crushing  the 
breath  from  his  body. 

A  revolver  cracked,  but  he  did  not  hear  it, 
nor  did  he  know  that  friends  were  at  hand. 
Before  the  miscreants  could  hurl  his  body  into 
the  cab  a  vehicle  whirled  up,  the  feeble  glare 
from  its  lanterns  throwing  light  upon  the 
scene.  The  man  who  had  fired  from  the  door 
of  the  second  cab  leaped  to  the  ground,  fol- 
lowed by  a  companion,  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  among  the  scuffling  robbers.  Whatever 
might  have  been  the  original  intentions  of  Quen- 
tin's  assailants,  they  were  not  prepared  to  offer 
battle.  Their  aim  was  to  escape,  not  to  fight. 
A  couple  of  shots  were  fired,  a  rush  of  feet 


A  FEW  MEN  AND  A   WOMAN  195 

ensued  and  the  earth  seemed  to  swallow  all  but 
the  two  newcomers  and  the  limp  figure  that 
lay  half  inside  the  cab. 

In  an  instant  Quentin  was  drawn  from  the 
cab  by  the  taller  of  the  two,  the  smaller  having 
made  a  short  dash  in  pursuit  of  the  bandits. 
Blood  rushed  from  the  head  of  the  unconscious 
man  and  he  was  a  dead  weight  in  the  arms  of 
his  rescuer, 

"Good  God,  Phil!  Have  they  killed  you? 
Here,  Turk!  Never  mind  those  fellows! 
Come  here,  quick;  we  must  get  him  to  a  sur- 
geon. I'm  afraid  they've  fixed  him.  Into  our 
cab  with  him!  Gad,  he's  like  a  rag!"  It  was 
Dickey  Savage,  and  he  was  filled  with  dread. 
Turk,  exploding  with  impotent  rage,  and  shiv- 
ering with  fear  that  his  master  was  dead,  came 
to  his  assistance  and  they  were  soon  racing  for 
the  Bellevue.  A  pair  of  wondering,  patient, 
driverless  horses  watched  the  departure,  but 
they  did  not  move  from  the  spot  where  they  had 
been  checked  by  the  first  attack.  Across  the 
doubletree  behind  them  hung  the  limp  form  of 
their  driver,  a  great,  gaping  w^ound  in  his  head. 
He  had  driven  them  for  the  last  time,  and  they 
seemed  to  know  that  his  cold  lips  could  never 
again  command  them  to  "go  on."  Driven 
almost  to  the  hilt,  in  the  floor  of  the  cab,  was 


196  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

an  ugly  knife.  Its  point  had  been  intended  for 
Ouentin's  throat,  but  the  hand  that  struck  the 
blow  was  not  as  true  as  the  will  of  its  owner. 

In  a  high  state  of  alarm  and  excitement  the 
two  men  in  the  cab  took  their  friend  to  his 
room,  their  advent  creating  great  commotion 
in  the  hotel  The  wildest  curiosity  prevailed, 
and  they  were  besieged  with  questions  from 
hotel  men,  guests  and  the  crowd  that  had  found 
shelter  from  the  storm.  Within  ten  minutes 
the  news  was  spreading  forth  over  the  city  that 
a  wealthy  American  had  been  held  up  and 
murdered  by  the  daring  diamond  thieves. 
Police  and  reporters  hurried  to  the  hotel,  and 
the  uproar  was  intense.  The  house  surgeon 
was  soon  at  work  with  the  bloody,  unconscious 
victim;  Savage  and  Turk,  with  their  friend,  the 
millionaire,  keeping  the  crowd  away  from  the 
couch.  It  was  impossible  to  drive  the  people 
from  the  room  until  the  police  arrived. 

There  were  two  ugly  gashes  in  Quentin's 
head,  one  of  which,  it  was  feared  at  first,  would 
disclose  a  fracture  of  the  skull.  Dr.  Gass- 
beck,  the  surgeon  who  had  attended  a  wounded 
prince  in  the  same  hotel  less  that  twenty-four 
hours  before,  gave  out  as  his  opinion  that 
Quentin's  injuries  were  not  dangerous  unless 
unexpected  complications  appeared.     Several 


A  FEW  MEN  AND  A   WOMAN  197 

stitches  were  taken  in  each  cut,  and  the 
patient,  slowly  recovering  from  the  effects  of 
the  blows  and  the  anesthetics,  was  put  to  bed 
by  his  friends. 

Savage  observed  one  thing  when  he  entered 
the  hotel  with  the  wounded  man.  Prince  Ugo 
and  Count  Sallaconi  were  among  the  first  to 
come  forward  when  the  news  of  the  attack 
spread  through  the  office  and  corridors.  The 
prince,  in  fact,  was  conversing  with  some  gen- 
tlemen near  the  doors  when  the  party  entered. 
It  was  he  who  sent  messengers  to  the  central 
police  office  and  who  told  the  detectives  where 
and  how  he  had  last  seen  the  victim  of  the 
diamond  thieves. 

Dickey  sat  all  night  beside  his  rolling, 
moaning  friend,  unnerved,  almost  despairing, 
but  the  morning  brought  the  change  that  glad- 
dened his  heart  and  gave  him  a  chance  to 
forget  his  fears  and  apprehensions  long  enough 
to  indulge  in  an  impressive,  though  inade- 
quate, degree  of  profanity,  with  continued  refer- 
ence to  a  certain  set  of  men  whom  the  world 
called  thieves,  but  whom  he  designated  as  dogs. 

About  ten  o'clock  a  telegram  from  Ostend 
came  to  the  hotel  for  him.  It  read:  "Are 
you  not  coming  to  Ostend  for  us?  Jane."  An 
hour  later  a  very  pretty  young  lady  in  Ostend 


198  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

tore  a  telegram  to  pieces,  sniffed  angrily  and 
vowed  she  would  never  speak  to  a  certain 
young  man  again.  His  reply  to  her  rather 
peremptory  query  by  wire  was  hardly  calcu- 
lated to  restore  the  good  humor  she  had  lost 
in  not  finding  him  at  the  dock.  "Cannot 
come.  Awfully  sorry.  Can't  leave  Brussels. 
Hurry  on.  Will  explain  here.  Richard  Sav- 
age." Her  sister-in-law  and  fellow-traveler 
from  London  was  mean  enough  to  tease  her 
with  sly  references  to  the  beauty  of  Brussels 
women  and  the  fickleness  of  all  mankind. 
And  so  there  was  stored  away  for  Mr.  Savage's 
benefit  a  very  cruel  surprise. 

The  morning  newspapers  carried  the  story 
of  Quentin's  adventure  to  the  Garrison  home, 
and  Dorothy's  face,  almost  haggard  as  the 
result  of  a  sleepless  night,  grew  whiter  still, 
and  her  tired  eyes  filled  with  dread.  She  did 
not  have  to  recall  their  conversation  of  the 
night  before,  for  it  had  not  left  her  mind,  but 
her  thoughts  went  back  to  a  former  conversa- 
tion in  which  he  had  ridiculed  the  bandits. 
The  newspaper  fell  from  her  nerveless  fingers, 
and  she  left  the  table,  her  breakfast  untouched, 
stealing  miserably  to  her  room,  to  escape  her 
mother's  inquisitive  eyes. 

Her  wretched  state  was  not  improved  by  the 


A  FEW  MEN  AND  A  WOMAN  199 

visit  of  a  veiled  young  woman  later  in  the  day. 
The  visitor  was  undoubtedly  a  lady,  but  the 
story  she  poured  into  the  unwilling  ears  was 
so  astounding  that  Dorothy  dismissed  her 
indignantly  before  it  was  finished.  The  low- 
voiced,  intense  stranger,  young  and  evidently 
beautiful,  told  her  that  Quentin's  injuries  were 
not  inflicted  by  thieves,  but  by  the  hired  agents 
of  one  who  had  cause  to  fear  him.  Before 
Miss  Garrison  could  remonstrate,  the  stranger 
went  into  the  details  of  a  plot  so  cowardly  that 
she  was  horrified  —  horrified  all  the  more 
because,  in  a  large  measure,  it  sustained  the 
charges  made  against  her  lover  by  Philip 
Quentin.  When  at  last  she  could  no  longer 
endure  the  villifying  recital  she  bade  the 
woman  to  leave  the  house,  hotly  refusing  to 
give  countenance  to  the  lies  she  was  telling. 
The  stranger  desisted  only  after  her  abject 
pleading  had  drawn  from  the  other  a  bitter 
threat  to  have  her  ejected  by  the  servants. 

"You  will  not  hear  me  to  the  end,  but  you 
must  give  me  the  privilege  of  saying  that  I  do 
not  come  here  to  do  him  or  you  an  injury," 
said  the  visitor,  tremulously.  "It  is  to  save 
you  from  him  and  to  save  him  for  myself. 
Mademoiselle,  I  love  him.  He  would  marry 
me  were  it  not  for  you.     You  think  jealousy, 


200  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

then,  inspired  this  visit?  I  admit  that  jealousy 
is  the  foundation,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  I 
am  compelled  to  lie.  Everything  I  have  said 
and  would  say  is  true.  Perhaps  he  loves  you, 
but  he  loved  me  first.  A  week  ago  he  told  me 
that  he  loved  me  still.  It  was  I  who  warned 
the  American  gentleman  against  him,  and  my 
reason  is  plain.  I  want  him  to  win.  It  would 
mean  death  to  me  if  it  were  known  that  I  came 
to  you  with  this  story.  Do  you  bid  me  go,  or 
will  you  hear  me  to  the  end?" 

"You  must  go.  I  cannot  listen  to  the 
infamous  things  you  say  about — about — him," 
said  Dorothy,  her  voice  choking  toward  the 
end.  A  horrible  fear  seized  upon  her  heart. 
Was  this  woman  mad  or  had  Quentin  told  the 
truth?  A  new  thought  came  to  her  and  she 
grasped  the  woman's  hand  with  convulsive 
fingers.  "You  have  been  sent  here  by  Mr. 
Quentin!  O,  how  plain  it  is!  Why  did  I  not 
see    through    it   at   once?     Go    back    to    your 

employer    and    tell    him    that "     She   was 

trying  hysterically  when  the  woman  snatched 
away  her  hand,  and  drawing  herself  to  full 
height  interrupted  haughtily: 

"I  have  humbled  myself  that  I  might  do  you 
the  greatest  service  in  the  world.  You  drive 
me  from  your  presence  i'-\A  you  call  me  a  liar. 


A  FEW  MEN  AND  A   WOMAN  201 

All  of  that  I  must  endure,  but  I  will  not  suffer 
you  to  accuse  this  innocent  man  while  I  have 
voice  to  offer  up  in  his  defense.  I  may  be 
some  one's  slave,  but  I  am  not  the  servant  of 
any  man.  I  do  not  know  this  American;  he 
does  not  know  me,  I  am  my  own  agent  and 
not  his  tool.  What  I  have  tried  to  tell  you  is 
true  and  I  confess  my  actions  have  been 
inspired  by  selfish  motives.  Mademoiselle, 
the  man  you  are  to  marry  promised  to  make 
me  his  wife  long  before  he  knew  you." 

"To  make  you  his  wife?  Absurd!  Men  of 
his  station  do  not  marry,  nor  promise  to  marry, 
the  grisettes  or  the " 

"Madam!  It  is  not  a  grisette  to  whom  you 
are  speaking.  The  blood  in  my  veins  is  as 
noble  as  that  which  flows  in  his,  the  name  I 
bear — and  perhaps  disgrace,  God  help  me! — is 
as  proud  as  any  in  all  France.  But  I  have  not 
millions,  as  you  have.  My  face,  my  person 
may  win  and  hold  the  heart,  but  I  have  not  the 
gold  with  which  to  buy  the  soul.  You  will 
pardon  my  intrusion  and  you  will  forgive  me 
for  any  pang  I  have  caused.  He  would  not 
harken  to  the  appeals  from  my  breaking  heart, 
he  would  not  give  me  all  his  love.  There  was 
left  but  one  course  to  preserve  what  rightfully 
belongs  to  me,  and  I  have  followed  it  as  a  last 


202  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

resort.  Were  you  to  tell  him  that  a  woman 
came  to  you  with  this  story,  he  would  deny 
everything,  and  he  would  be  lost  to  me,  even 
though  you  cast  him  off  in  the  end.  It  is  not 
in  my  power  to  command  you  to  protect  the 
woman  who  is  trying  to  help  you.  You  do 
not  believe  what  I  have  told  to  you,  therefore 
I  cannot  hope  for  pity  at  your  hands.  You 
will  tell  him  that  I  have  been  here,  and  I  shall 
pay  the  penalty  for  being  the  fool,  the  mad 
woman.  I  am  not  asking  for  pity.  If  I  have 
lied  to  you  I  deserve  nothing  but  the  hardest 
punishment.  You  have  one  way  to  punish  me 
for  the  wounds  I  inflict,  but  it  is  the  same  to 
me,  no  matter  how  it  ends.  If  you  marry 
him,  I  am  lost;  if  you  cast  him  off  and  yet  tell 
him  that  it  was  I  who  first  sowed  the  seed  of 
distrust  in  your  heart,  I  am  lost.  It  will  be 
the  same — all  the  same!  If  he  cannot  wed 
you,  he  will  come  to  me  and  I  will  forgive. 
Madam,  he  is  not  good  enough  for  you,  but  he 
is  all  the  world  to  me.  He  would  wed  you, 
but  you  are  not  the  one  he  loves.  You  are  all 
the  world  to  one  whose  love  is  pure  and  hon- 
est. If  you  would  save  him,  become  his  wife. 
O,  Mademoiselle,  it  grieves  me  so  to  see  the 
tears  in  those  good  eyes  of  yours!  Farewell, 
and  God  bless  and  keep  you." 


XVIII 

ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDOJV 

Lady  Saxondale  and  the  young  person  with 
the  stored-up  wrath  were  met  at  the  Gare  du 
Nord  by  Mr.  Savage,  all  smiles  and  good 
spirits.  Quentin  was  rounding-to  nicely,  and 
there  was  little  danger  from  complications. 
This  fact  coupled  with  the  joy  of  seeing  the 
girl  who  had  been  able  to  make  him  feel  that 
life  was  not  a  shallow  dream,  sent  him  up  to 
the  two  ladies  with  outstretched  hands,  a  danc- 
ing heart  and  a  greeting  that  brought  smiles  to 
the  faces  of  crusty  fellow-creatures  who  had 
not  smiled  in  weeks. 

With  a  deference  due  to  premeditated  gal- 
lantry, he  shook  hands  first  with  Lady  Frances. 
His  ebullition  almost  swept  him  to  the  point 
of  greeting  the  two  maids  who  stood  respect- 
fully near  their  mistresses.  Then  he  turned 
his  beaming  face  upon  the  Arctic  individual 
with  the  pink  parasol  and  the  palm-leaf  fan. 

"Awfully  sorry.  Lady  Jane,  but  I  really 
couldn't  get  to  Ostend.  Ycu  didn't  have  any 
trouble  getting  the  right  train  and  all  that,  did 
203 


204  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

you?"  he  asked,  vaguely  feeling  for  the  hand 
which  had  not  been  extended. 

"Not  in  the  least,  Mr.  Savage.  We  delight 
in  traveling  alone.  Do  you  see  the  baroness 
anywhere,  Frances?"  Mr.  Savage  stared  in 
amazement.  A  distinct,  blighting  frost  settled 
over  the  whole  September  world  and  his  smile 
lost  all  but  its  breadth.  The  joy  left  his  eyes 
and  his  heart  like  a  flash,  but  his  lips  help- 
lessly, witlessly  maintained  a  wide-open  hospi- 
tality until  long  after  the  inspiration  was  dead. 

"She  is  not  here,  I  am  afraid,"  responded 
Lady  Saxondale,  glancing  through  the  hurry- 
ing crowd.  "Have  you  seen  the  Baroness  St. 
Auge,  Mr.  Savage?     Or  do  you  know  her?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  have — er — I  mean  don't 
— no,  I  should  say  both,"  murmured  he  dis- 
tractedly.     "Does  she  live  here?" 

"She  resides  in  a  house,  not  in  a  railway 
station,"  observed  Lady  Jane,  with  a  cutting 
sarcasm  of  which  she  was  rather  proud.  Lady 
Saxondale  turned  her  face  away  and  buried  a 
convulsive  smile  in  her  handkerchief. 

"I  mean  in  Brussels,"  floundered  Dickey, 
his  wits  in  the  wind.  He  was  gazing  dumbly 
at  the  profile  of  the  slim  iceberg  that  had  so 
sharply  sent  the  blast  of  winter  across  the 
summer  of  his  content. 


ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDON  205 

"She  certainly  understood  that  we  were  to 
come  on  this  train,  Frances.  You  telegraphed 
her,"  said  Lady  Jane,  ignoring  him  completely. 
She  raised  herself  on  her  dainty  tiptoes,  ele- 
vated her  round  little  chin  and  tried  to  peer 
over  the  heads  of  a  very  tall  and  disobliging 
multitude.  Dickey,  at  a  loss  for  words, 
stretched  his  neck  also  in  search  of  the  woman 
he  did  not  know. 

"How  very  annoying,"  said  Lady  Saxon- 
dale,  a  faint  frown  on  her  brow.  "She  is 
usually  so  punctual." 

"Perhaps  she — er — didn't  get  your  tele- 
gram," ventured  Dickey.  "What  sort  of  a 
looking — I  mean,  is  she  old  or  young?" 

"Neither;  she  is  just  my  age,"  smiled  Lady 
Saxondale.  Dickey  dumbly  permitted  the  rare 
chance  for  a  compliment  to  slip  by.  "Jane, 
won't  you  and  Mr.  Savage  undertake  a  search 
for  her?  I  will  give  William  directions  regard- 
ing the  luggage."  She  turned  to  the  man  and 
the  maids,  and  Mr.  Savage  and  Lady  Disdain 
were  left  to  work  out  their  salvation  as  best 
they  could. 

"I  can't  think  of  troubling  you,  Mr.  Savage. 
It  won't  be  necessary  for  you  to  dodge  around 
in  this  crowd  to " 

"No  trouble,  I   assure  you.  Lady  Jane.     Be 


206  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

glad    to    do    it,    in   fact.     Where   shall   we  go, 
first?"  demanded  he,  considerably  flurried. 

"You  go  that  way  and  I'll  go  this.  We'll 
find  her  more  easil}'-,"  said  she,  relentlessly, 
indicating  the  directions. 

"But  I  don't  know  her,"  he  cried. 

"How  unfortunate!  Would  you  know  her  if 
I  were  to  describe  her  to  you?  Well,  she's  tall 
and  very  fair.  She's  also  beautiful.  She's 
quite  stunning.  I'm  sure  you'll  know  her." 
She  was  starting  away  when  he  confronted  her 
desperately. 

"You'll  have  to  go  with  me.  I'll  be  arrested 
for  addressing  the  wrong  lady  if  I  go  alone, 
and  you'll  suffer  the  mortification  of  seeing 
them  drag  me  off  to  jail." 

"The  what?  Why  do  you  say  mortification, 
Mr.  Savage?     I  am  quite  sure— — " 

"O,  come  now,  Jane — aw — Lady  Jane — what 
do  you  mean  by  that?  What's  all  the  row 
about?     What  has  happened?"  he  cried. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Savage." 

"Something's  wrong,  or  you'd  seem  happier 
to  see  me,  that's  all,"  he  said,  helplessly. 
'Lord,  all  my  troubles  come  at  once.  Phil  is 
half  dead,  perhaps  all  dead,  by  this  time — and 
here  you  come  along,  adding  misery  instead 
of " 


'ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDON  207 

"Phil — Mr.  Quentin  —  what  did  you  say, 
Dickey?"  she  cried,  her  haughty  reserve  fading 
like  a  flash, 

"Don't  you  know?"  he  cried.  "Almost 
killed  last  night  by — by  robbers.  Slugged  him 
nearly  to  a  finish.  Horrible  gashes — eight 
stitches" — he  was  blurting  ont  excitedly,  but 
she  clasped  his  arm  convulsively  and  fairly 
dragged  him  to  where  Lady  Saxondale 
stood. 

"Oh,  Dickey!  They  didn't  kill — he  won't 
die,  will  he?  Why  didn't  you  tell  us  before? 
Why  didn't  you  telegraph?"  she  cried,  and 
there  was  no  wrath  in  the  thumping,  terrified 
little  heart.  Lady  Saxondale  turned  quickly 
upon  hearing  the  excited  words  of  the  girl  who 
but  a  moment  before  had  been  the  personifica- 
tion of  reserve. 

"What  are  you  saying,  Jane?  Is  there  any- 
thing wrong?"  she  asked. 

"Everything  is  wrong — Philip  is  dead!"  cried 
Lady  Jane,  ready  to  faint.  "Dickey  says  there 
are  eight  gashes,  and  that  he  is  all  dead!  Why 
don't  you  tell  us  about  it,  Dickey?" 

"He's  all  right — not  dead  at  all.  Robbers 
held  him  up  last  night  during  the  storm,  and  if 
help  hadn't  come  just  when  it  did  they'd  have 
made  short  work  of  him.     But  I  can't  tell  you 


208  CA  STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

about  it  here,  you  know.  If  you'll  allow  me 
I'll  take  a  look  for  the  baroness." 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Lady  Jane,  enthusi- 
astically. "Dickey,"  she  went  on  as  they  hur- 
ried away,  "I  forgive  you." 

"Forgive  me  for  what?"  he  asked. 

"For  not  coming  to  Ostend,"  demurely. 

"You  really  wanted  me  to  come,  did  you, 
Jane?" 

"Yes,  after  I  had  been  goose  enough  to  tele- 
graph to  you,  you  know.  You  don't  know  how 
small  I  felt  when  you  did  not  come,"  she 
hurried  out,  but  his  merry  laugh  cut  short  the 
humiliating  confession. 

"And  that  was  why  you " 

"Yes,  that  was  why.  Don't  say  another 
word  about  it,  though.  I  was  such  a  horrid 
little  fool,  and  I  am  so  ashamed  of  myself. 
And  you  were  so  worried  all  the  time  about 
dear  Mr.  Quentin,"  she  pleaded,  penitently. 

"You  might  have  known  that  nothing  short 
of  death  could  have  prevented  me  from  com- 
ing to  Ostend,"  said  he  softly.  "But  I've  all 
sorts  of  news  to  tell  you.  When  I  tell  you 
about  the  duel  you'll  go  into  convulsions; 
when  you  hear " 

"A  duel?  Good  heavens,  how — I  mean  who 
"  she  gasped,  her  eyes  wider  than  ever. 


ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDON  209 

"I  don't  know  how,  but  I  do  know  who. 
Jane,  I  have  shot  a  man!"  he  said,  impressively. 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!  Dickey!"  she  almost  shrieked, 
coming  helplessly  to  a  standstill,  a  dozen  emo- 
tions crowding  themselves  into  her  pretty, 
bewildered  face. 

"Don't  faint!  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it- 
to-night,  eh?"  he  said,  hastily.  He  was  vastly 
afraid  she  might  topple  over  in  a  swoon. 

"I  can't  wait!"  she  gasped.  "And  I  will  not 
faint.  You  must  tell  me  all  about  it  this 
instant.  Is  the  other  man — is  he — where  is 
he?" 

"He's  in  a  hospital.  Everybody's  staring  at 
us.  What  a  fool  I  was  to  say  anything  about 
it.     I  won't  tell  you  another  word  of  it." 

"Oh,  Dickey,  please!"  she  implored.  He 
was  obdurate  and  her  manner  changed  sud- 
denly. With  blighting  scorn  she  exclaimed, 
"I  don't  believe  a  word  you've  said." 

"O,  now,  that's  hardly  a  nice  way "  he 

began,  indignantly,  catching  himself  luckily 
before  floundering  into  her  trap.  "You  will 
have  to  wait,  just  the  same,  Miss  Lady  Jane 
Oldham.  Just  now  we  are  supposed  to  be 
searching  for  a  baroness  who  is  good  enough 
to  come  to  railway  stations,  you'll  remember. 
Have  you  seen  her?" 


210  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

At  this  juncture  Lady  Saxondale's  voice  was 
heard  behind  them,  and  there  were  traces  of 
laughter  in  the  tones. 

"Are  you  waiting  for  the  mountain  to  come 
to  you?  Here  is  the  baroness,  delayed  by  an 
accident  to  her  victoria."  Mr.  Savage  was 
presented  to  the^  handsome,  rather  dashing 
lady,  whose  smile  was  as  broad  and  significant 
as  that  which  still  left  traces  about  Lady  Sax- 
ondale's lips.  He  bowed  deeply  to  hide  the 
red  in  his  cheeks  and  the  confusion  in  his 
eyes.  His  companion,  on  the  other  hand, 
greeted  the  stranger  so  effusively  that  he  found 
it  possible  during  the  moments  of  merry  chat- 
ter to  regain  a  fair  proportion  of  his  lost 
composure. 

The  Baroness  St.  Auge  was  an  English 
woman,  famed  as  a  whip,  a  golfer  and  an 
entertainer.  Her  salon  was  one  of  the  most 
interesting,  the  most  delightful  in  Brussels; 
her  husband  and  her  rollicking  little  boys  were 
not  a  whit  less  attractive  than  herself,  and  her 
household  was  the  wonder  of  that  gay,  careless 
city.  The  baron,  a  middle-aged  Belgian  of 
wealth,  was  as  merry  a  nobleman  as  ever  set 
forth  to  seek  the  pleasures  of  life.  His  board 
was  known  as  the  most  bountiful,  his  home  the 
cheeriest  and  most  hospitable,  his  horses  th/^ 


ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDON  211 

best  bred  in  all  Brussels.  He  loved  his  wife 
and  indulged  her  every  whim,  and  she  adored 
him.  Theirs  was  a  home  in  which  the  laugh 
seldom  gave  way  to  the  frown,  where  happi- 
ness dwelt  undisturbed  and  merriment  kept  the 
rafters  twitching.  With  them  the  two  London 
women  were  to  stop  until  after  the  wedding. 
Saxondale  was  to  visit  his  grim  old  castle  in 
Luxemburg  for  several  days  before  coming  up 
to  Brussels,  and  he  was  not  to  leave  England 
for  another  week.  Baron  St.  Auge  was  look- 
ing over  his  estates  in  the  north  of  Belgium, 
but  was  expected  home  before  the  week's 
end. 

Mr.  Savage  was  in  an  unusual  flutter  of  exhil- 
aration when  he  rushed  into  Quentin's  pres- 
ence soon  after  the  ladies  drove  away  from  the 
Gare  du  Nord.  The  baroness  had  warmly 
insisted  that  he  come  that  evening  to  regale 
them  with  the  stor^^  of  the  robbery  and  the 
account  of  the  duel,  a  faint  and  tantalizing 
rumor  of  which  had  come  to  her  ears. 

"The  baroness  lives  on  the  Avenue  Louise, 
old  man,"  he  said,  after  he  had  described  her 
glowingly.  A  long,  cool  drink  ran  dov/n  his 
dry  throat  before  his  listener,  propped  up  in 
his  bed  and  looking  upon  his  friend  with  som- 
ber eyes,  deigned  to  break  the  silence. 


212  CA  STLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

"So  you  are  to  tell  them  about  the  duel, 
Dickey,"  he  said,  slowly- 

"They're  crazy  about  it." 

"I  thought  it  was  to  be  kept  as  dark  as  pos- 
sible." Dickey's  jaw  dropped  and  his  eyes 
lost  their  gleam  of  satisfaction. 

"By  thunder,  I  — I  forgot  that!"  he 
exclaimed.  "What  am  I  to  do?"  he  went  on 
after  a  moment  of  perplexity  and  dismay. 
The  long,  cool  drink  seemed  to  have  left  a 
disagreeable  taste  in  his  mouth  and  he  gulped 
feebly, 

"Commit  suicide,  I  should  say.  I  see  no 
other  way  out  of  it,"  advised  the  man  in  the 
bed,  soberly.  The  misery  in  Dickey's  face 
was  beyond  description,  and  the  perspiration 
that  stood  on  his  brow  came  nol:  from  the  heat 
of  the  day. 

"Did  you  ever  know  a  bigger  ass  than  I, 
Phil?     Now,   did  you,   honestly?"  he  groaned. 

"I  believe  I  can  outrank  you  myself,  Dickey. 
It  seems  to  me  we  are  out  of  our  class  when  it 
comes  to  diplomacy.  Give  Lady  Saxondale 
a^d  Lady  Jane  my  compliments  to-night,  and 
tell  them  I  hope  to  see  them  before  I  sail  for 
home." 

"What  s  that?'    in  astonishment. 

"Before  I  sail  for  home." 


ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDON  213 

"Going  to  give  it  up,  are  you?" 

"She  thinks  I'm  a  liar,  so  what  is  the  use?" 

"You  didn't  talk  that  way  this  morning. 
You  swore  she  believed  everything  you  said 
and  that  she  cares  for  you.  Anything  hap- 
pened since  then?" 

"Nothing  but  the  opportunity  to  think  it  all 
over  while  these  bandages  hold  my  brain  in 
one  place.  Her  mind  is  made  up  and  I  can't 
change  it,  truth  or  no  truth.  She'll  never 
know  what  a  villian  Ravorelli — or  Pavesi — is 
until  it  is  too  late." 

"You'll  feel  better  to-morrow,  old  man. 
The  stitches  hurt  like  the  devil,  don't  they? 
Cheer  up,  old  chap;  I'm  the  one  who  needs 
encouragement.  See  what  I  have  to  face 
to-night.  Good  lord,  there'll  be  three  women, 
at  least — maybe  a  dozen — begging,  command- 
ing me  to  tell  all  about  that  confounded  shoot- 
ing match,  and  I  was  getting  along  so  nicely 
with  her,  too,"  he  concluded,  dolefully. 

"With  the  baroness?  On  such  short  acquaint- 
ance?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  With  Jane  Oldham.  I 
don't  know  how  I'm  going  to  square  it  with 
her,  by  jove,  I  don't.  Say,  I'll  bet  my  head  I 
bray  in  my  sleep,  don't  I?  That's  the  kind  of 
an  ass  I  am." 


214  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

When  he  looked  listlesslyinto  Quentin's  room 
late  that  evening  he  wore  the  air  of  a  martyr, 
but  he  was  confident  he  had  scored  a  triumph 
in  diplomacy.  Diplomacy  in  his  estimation, 
was  the  dignified  synonym  for  lying.  For  an 
hour  he  had  lied  like  a  trooper  to  three  women; 
he  left  them  struggling  with  the  conviction 
that  all  the  rest  of  the  world  lied  and  he  alone 
told  the  truth.  With  the  perspiration  of 
despair  on  his  brow,  he  had  convinced  them 
that  there  had  been  no  real  duel — just  a  trifling 
conflict,  in  which  he,  being  a  good  Yankee, 
had  come  off  with  a  moderate  victory.  Lady 
Jane  believed;  Lady  Saxondale  was  more  or 
less  skeptical;  while  the  Baroness,  although 
graciously  accepting  his  story  as  it  came  from 
his  blundering  lips,  did  not  believe  a  word  of 
it.  His  story  of  the  "robbery"  was  told  so 
readily  and  so  graphically  that  it  could  not  be 
doubted. 

Like  true  women.  Lady  Saxondale  and  her 
sister,  accompanied  by  their  hostess  and  her 
brother,  Colonel  Denslow,  seized  the  first  favor- 
able opportunity  to  call  at  the  rooms  of  Mr. 
Quentin.  They  found  him  the  next  morning 
sitting  up  in  a  comfortable  chair,  the  picture 
of  desolation,  notwithstanding  the  mighty 
efforts   of  Dickey   Savage    and    the   convivial 


ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDON  215 

millionaire  The  arrival  of  the  party  put  new 
life  into  the  situation,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  Phil  found  his  spirits  soaring  sky- 
ward, 

"Tell  me  the  truth  about  this  awful  duel," 
commanded  Lady  Saxondale,  after  Dickey  had 
collected  the  other  members  of  the  party  about 
a  table  to  which  tall  glasses  with  small  stems 
were  brought  at  his  call. 

"I'm  afraid  Dickey  has  been  a  bit  too  loqua- 
cious," said  he,  smilingly. 

"He  fibs  so  wretchedly,  you  know.  One 
could  see  he  had  been  told  what  not  to  say. 
You  can  trust  me,  Phil,"  she  said,  earnestly. 
And  he  told  her  all,  from  beginning  to  end. 
Not  once  did  she  interrupt,  and  but  seldom  did 
she  allow  horror  to  show  itself  in  her  clear, 
brave  eyes. 

"And  she  will  go  on  and  marry  this  man, 
Phil.  I  am  afraid  she  cannot  be  convinced — or 
will  not,  I  should  say,"  she  said,  slowly,  at  the: 
end  of  the  recital.  "What  a  villain,  what  a 
coward  he  is!" 

"But  she  must  not  be  sacrificed,  Frances! 
She  must  be  saved.  Good  God,  can't  some- 
thing be  done  to  drag  her  from  the  clutches  of 
that  scoundrel?"  he  almost  groaned. 

"The  clutches  of  her  mother  are  more  tena- 


216  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

cious  than  those  of  the  prince.     There  is  the 
power  that  dominates.     Can  it  be  broken?" 

"As  well  try  to  break  down  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. That  woman  has  no  heart — no  soul,  I'll 
swear.  Dorothy  has  a  mind  and  a  will  of  her 
own,  though,  Frances.  I  feel  that  she  loves  me 
— something  tells  me  she  does,  but  she  will  not 
break  this  hateful  compact.  I  am  sure  that  I 
saw  love  in  her  eyes  that  last  night,  heard  it  in 
her  voice,  felt  it  in  the  way  she  dismissed  me." 

"You  made  a  mistake  when  you  denounced 
him  to  her.  It  was  but  natural  for  her  to 
defend  him."' 

"I  know  it,  but  I  was  driven  to  it.  I  saw  no 
other  way.  She  accused  me  of  cowardice 
Good  heavens,  I'd  give  my  soul  to  be  up  now 
and  able  to  call  that  villain's  bluff.  But  I  am 
in  here  for  a  week,  at  least,  and  the  weddmg  is 
only  two  weeks  away.  When  is  Bob  coming?" 
he  cried,  feverishly. 

"Be  calm,  Phil.  You  will  gain  nothing  by 
working  yourself  into  a  frenzy.  Bob  will  come 
when  I  send  for  him.  It  shall  be  at  once,  if 
you  have  need  for  him  here." 

"I  want  him  immediately,  but  I  cannot  ask 
him  or  you  to  mix  in  this  miserable  game. 
There  may  be  a  scandal  and  I  won't  drag  you 
all  into  it,"  he  said,  dejectedly. 


ARRIVALS  FROM  LONDON  217 

"I'll  send  for  Bob,  just  the  same,  dear  boy. 
What  are  friends  for,  pray?" 

She  left  him  with  the  firm  and  secret  deter- 
mination to  carry  the  war  for  friendship's  sake 
to  the  very  door  of  Dorothy  Garrison's  stub- 
born heart,  and  that  without  delay. 


XIX 

THE  DA  V  OF  THE  WEDDING 

When  Lord  Bob  reached  Brussels  on  Friday 
he  found  affairs  in  a  sorry  shape.  His  wife's 
never-failing  serenity  was  in  a  sad  state  of 
collapse.  Quentin  was  showing  wonderful 
signs  of  recuperation,  and  it  almost  required 
lock  and  key  to  keep  him  from  breaking  forth 
into  the  wildest  indiscretions.  Gradually 
and  somewhat  disconnectedly  he  became 
acquainted  with  existing  conditions.  He  first 
learned  that  his  wife  had  carried  Quentin's 
banner  boldly  up  to  the  walls  of  the  fortress, 
and  then — well,  Lady  Saxondale's  pride  was 
very  much  hurt  by  what  happened  there. 
Miss  Garrison  was  exceedingly  polite,  but 
quite  ungrateful  for  the  kindness  that  was  being 
bestowed  upon  her.  She  assured  her  ladyship 
that  she  was  making  no  mistake  in  marrying 
Prince  Ravorelli,  and,  if  she  were,  she  alone 
would  suffer, 

"I  am  so  furious  with  her.  Bob,  for  marry- 
ing Prince  Ugo   that  I   am  not  going  to  the 
wedding,"  said  Lady  Saxondale. 
218 


THE  DA  V  OF  THE  WEDDING         219 

"Whew!  That's  a  bracer!  But,  by  the  way, 
my  dear,  did  you  introduce  any  real  proof  that 
he  is  the  scoundrel  you  say  he  is?  Seems  to 
me  the  poor  girl  is  right  in  the  stand  she  takes. 
She  wants  proof,  and  positive  proof,  you 
know.  I  don't  blame  her.  How  the  deuce 
can  she  break  it  off  with  the  fellow  on  the 
flimsy  excuse  that  Phil  Quentin  and  Lady  Sax- 
ondale  say  he  is  a  rascal?  You've  all  been 
acting  like  a  tribe  of  ninnies,  if  you'll  pardon 
my  saying  so." 

"She  is  sensible  enough  to  know  that  we 
would  not  misrepresent  matters  to  her  in  such 
a  serious  case  as  this,"  she  retorted. 

"What  proof  have  you  that  Ravorelli  is  a 
villain?" 

"Good  heavens,  Bob,  did  he  not  try  to  have 
Phil  murdered?"  she  exclaimed,  pityingly. 

"Do  you  know  that  to  be  a  positive  fact?" 

"Phil  and  Mr.  Savage  are  quite  thoroughly 
convinced." 

"But  if  anyone  asked  you  to  go  on  to  the 
witness  stand  and  swear  that  Prince  Ugo  tried 
to  take  the  life  of  Philip  Quentin,  could  you 
do  so?"  he  persisted. 

"You  goose,  I  was  not  an  eye-v/itness.  How 
could  I  swear  to  such  a  thing?" 

"Well,  if   I    understand   the   situation   cor- 


230  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

rectly,  Miss  Garrison  is  the  judge,  Ravorelli 
the  accused,  and  you  are  one  of  the  witnesses. 
Now,  really,  dear,  how  far  do  you  imagine 
your  hearsay  evidence — which  is  no  evidence 
at  all — goes  with  the  fair  magistrate?  What 
would  be  your  verdict  if  some  one  were  to 
come  to  you  and  say,  'Saxondale  is  a  black- 
guard, a  rascal,  a  cutthroat?'  " 

"I  confess  I'd  say  it  was  not  true,"  she  said, 
turning  quite  red. 

"The  chances  are  you  wouldn't  even  ask  for 
proof.  So,  you  see,  Miss  Garrison  behaved 
very  generously  when  she  condescended  to 
hear  your  assertions  instead  of  instructing  the 
servant  to  direct  you  to  the  door." 

"She  was  above  reproach,  Bob.  I  never 
saw  anyone  so  calm,  so  composed  and  so 
frigidly  agreeable.  If  she  had  shown  the 
faintest  sign  of  anger,  displeasure  or  even 
disgust,  1  could  forgive  her,  but  she  acted  just 
as  if  she  were  tolerating  me  rather  than  to 
lower  herself  to  the  point  of  seriously  consid- 
ering a  word  I  uttered.  I  know  the  prince  is  a 
villian.  I  believe  every  word  Phil  says  about 
him."  She  took  Lord  Bob's  hands  in  hers, 
and  her  deep,  earnest  eyes  burnt  conviction 
into  his  brain. 

'And  so  do  I,  Frances.     I  am  as  sure  that 


THE  DA  y  OF  THE  WEDDING         221 

Ugo  is  a  scoundrel  as  if  I  iiad  personal  knowl- 
edge of  his  transactions.  In  fact,  I  have  never 
believed  in  him.  You  and  I  will  stand  together, 
dear,  in  this  fight  for  poor  old  Phil,  and, 
by  the  Lord  Harry,  they'll  find  us  worth  back- 
ing to  the  finish.  If  there's  anything  to  be  done 
that  can  be  done,  we'll  do  it,  my  girl.'  And 
he  was  amply  repaid  for  his  loyal  declaration 
by  the  love  that  shone  refulgent  from  her  eyes. 

Quentin  naturally  chafed  under  the  restraint. 
There  was  nothing  he  could  do,  nothing  his 
friends  could  do,  to  avert  the  disaster  that  was 
daily  drawing  nearer.  Lord  Bob  infused  a 
momentary  spark  of  hope  into  the  dying  fire 
of  his  courage,  but  even  the  resourceful  Briton 
admitted  that  the  prospect  was  too  gloomy  to 
warrant  the  slightest  encouragement.  They 
could  gain  absolutely  no  headway  against  the 
prince,  for  there  was  no  actual  proof  to  be  had. 
To  find  the  strange  woman  who  gave  the  first 
warning  to  Quentin  was  out  of  the  question. 
Turk  had  watched  every  movement  of  the 
prince  and  his  aides  in  the  hope  of  in  some 
way  securing  a  clue  to  her  identity  or  where- 
abouts. There  was  but  one  proposition  left;  the 
purchase  of  Courant. 

This  plan  seemed  feasible  until  Turk  re- 
ported,  after  diligent  search,  that  the  French 


222  CASTLE  CR AN EYCROW 

detective  could  not  be  found.  Dickey  was  for 
buying  the  two  Italian  noblemen,  but  that 
seemed  out  of  the  question,  and  it  was  unreas- 
onable to  suspect  that  the  other  hirelings  recog- 
nized the  prince  as  their  real  employer.  The 
slightest  move  to  approach  the  two  noblemen 
might  prove  disastrous,  and  wisdom  cut  off 
Dickey's  glorious  scheme  to  give  each  of 
them  "a  hundred  dollars  to  tell  the  whole 
truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

Quentin  at  last  burst  all  bonds,  and,  finding 
himself  out  of  the  doctor's  hands,  determined 
to  make  a  last  desperate  appeal  to  Dorothy 
Garrison.  If  that  appeal  failed,  he  would  then 
give  up  the  struggle;  he  would  at  least  end  the 
suspense.  He  knew  how  difficult  it  would  be 
to  obtain  an  audience  with  her,  but  he  went 
ahead  with  the  confidence  of  the  drowning 
man,  the  boldness  of  the  man  who  is  wounded 
to  the  death  but  does  not  know  it. 

It  was  the  Wednesday  just  one  week  before 
the  wedding  that  saw  the  pale-faced,  tall  and 
somewhat  unsteady  American  deliberately 
leave  his  cab  and  stride  manfully  up  the  steps 
of  a  certain  mansion  in  the  Avenue  Louise. 
Miss  Garrison  was  "not  at  home,"  and  her 
mother  was  "not  at  home."  So  said  the  obse- 
quious footman. 


THE  DAY  OF  THE  WEDDING  233 

"Take  my  card  to  Miss  Garrison,"  said 
Quentin,  coolly.  The  man  looked  bewildered 
and  was  protesting  that  his  young  mistress  was 
not  in  the  house  w'hen  the  lady  herself 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  broad  stairway. 
Phil  stood  in  the  center  of  the  hall  watching 
her  as  she  slowly  descended  the  steps.  At  tne 
bottom  of  the  steps  she  paused.  Neither 
spoke,  neither  smiled,  for  the  crisis  was  upon 
them.  If  he  were  pale  from  the  loss  of  blood, 
she  was  white  with  the  aches  from  a  fever- 
consumed  heart. 

"Why  have  you  come?"  she  asked,  at  last,  her 
voice  so  low  that  the  words  scarcely  reached 
his  ears, 

"Dorothy,     was  all  he  said. 

"You  knew  w^hat  I  must  say  to  you  before 
you  entered  the  door.  Will  you  let  me  tell  you 
how  deeply  I  have  grieved  over  your  misfor- 
tune? Are  you  quite  wise  in  coming  out  before 
you  have  the  strength?  You  are  so  pale,  so 
weak.  Won't  you  go  back  to  your — to  your 
hotel  and  save  yourself  all  the  pain  that  w'ill 
come  to  you  here?'  There  was  pity  in  her 
eyes,  entreaty  in  her  voice,  and  he  was  envel- 
oped in  the  tender  warmth  of  her  sincerity. 
Never  had  she  seemed  so  near  as  now,  and 
yet  never  so  far  away. 


224  CASTLlC  CRANEYCROW 

"Dorothy,  you  must  know  what  manner  of 
love  it  is  that  brings  me  to  plead  for  the  small- 
est crumb  of  what  has  been  once  refused.  I 
come  simply,  in  all  humility,  with  outstretched 
hands  to  ask  your  love."  He  drew  nearer,  and 
she  did  not  retreat. 

"Oh,  it  is  so  useless  —  so  hopeless,  Phil,'' 
she  said,  softly.  "Why  will  you  persist?  I 
cannot  grant  even  the  crumb." 

"I  love  you,  Dorothy,"  he  cried  passion- 
ately. 

"Oh!  Phil;  you  must  understand  that  I  can 
give  you  nothing — absolutely  nothing.  For 
God's  sake — for  my  sake,  for  the  sake  of  that 
dear  friendship  we  own  together,  go  away  and 
forget — forget  everything,"  she  said,  piteously. 

A  half-hour  later  he  slowly  descended  the 
steps,  staggering  like  a  man  sick  unto  death. 
She  sat  where  he  left  her,  her  wide,  dry  eyes 
seeing  nothing,  her  ears  hearing  nothing  but 
the  words  his  love  had  forced  her  to  utter. 
These  words: 

"Yes,  heaven  help  me,  I  do  care  for  you. 
But,  go!  Go!  I  can  never  see  you  again.  I 
shall  keep  the  bargain  I  have  made,  if  I  die  at 
the  altar.  I  cannot  break  my  promise  to  him." 
And  all  his  pleading  could  not  break  down 
that  decision — not  even  when  she  found  herself 


THE  DA  V  OF  THE   WEDDING  225 

for  one  brief,  terrible  instant  in  his  straining 
arms,  his  lips  upon  hers. 

It  was  all  over.  He  calmly  told  his  friends, 
as  he  had  told  her,  that  he  would  sail  for  New 
York  on  the  first  steamer,  and  Turk  reluctantly 
began  to  pack  the  things.  The  night  before  he 
was  to  leave  for  Hamburg,  the  Saxondales, 
Lady  Jane  and  Savage  sat  with  him  long  into 
the  night.  Prince  Ugo's  watchdogs  were  not 
long  in  discovering  the  sudden  turn  affairs  had 
taken,  and  he  was  gleefully  celebrating  the 
capitulation. 

The  next  day  the  Saxondales  accompanied 
the  two  Americans  to  the  railway  station,  bade 
them  a  fond  farewell  and  hastened  back  to  the 
home  of  the  Baron  St.  Auge  with  new  resolu- 
tions in  their  hearts.  The  forepart  of  the 
ensuing  week  saw  their  departure  from  Brus- 
sels. Deliberately  they  turned  their  backs  on 
the  great  wedding  that  was  to  come,  and  as  if 
scorning  it  completely,  journeyed  to  Lord 
Bob's  ruins  in  Luxemburg,  preferring  the  pic- 
turesque solitude  of  the  tumbledown  castle  to 
the  empty  spectacle  at  St.  Gudule.  Brussels 
may  have  wondered  at  their  strange  leave- 
taking  on  the  eve  of  the  wedding,  but  no 
explanation  was  offered  by  the  departing  ones. 

When  Dorothy  Garrison  heard  that  Philip 


226  CA  STLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

Quentin  had  started  for  the  United  States  she 
felt  a  chill  of  regret  sink  suddenly  into  her  soul, 
and  it  would  not  be  driven  forth.  She  went  on 
to  the  very  night  that  was  to  make  her  a  princess, 
with  the  steel  in  her  heart,  but  the  world  did 
not  know  it  was  there.  There  was  no  falter- 
ing, no  wavering,  no  outward  sign  of  the  emo- 
tions which  surged  within.  She  was  to  be  a 
princess!  But  when  the  Saxondales  turned 
their  faces  from  her,  spurning  the  invitation  to 
her  wedding,  the  pride  in  her  heart  suffered. 
That  was  a  blow  she  had  not  expected.  It 
was  like  an  accusation,  a  reproach. 

Little  Lady  Jane  blissfully  carried  with  her 
to  the  valley  of  the  Alzette  the  consciousness 
that  Richard  Savage  was  very  much  in  love 
with  her,  even  though  he  had  not  found  cour- 
age to  tell  her  so  in  plain  words.  A  telegram 
from  him  stating  that  he  and  Quentin  had 
taken  passage  for  New  York  and  would  sail  on 
the  following  day  dispelled  the  hope  that  he 
might  return. 

Brussels  was  full  of  notables.  The  news- 
papers of  two  continents  were  fairly  blazing 
with  details  of  the  wedding.  There  were  por- 
traits of  the  bride  and  groom,  and  the  bishop, 
and  pictures  of  the  gowns,  the  hats,  the 
jewels;  there  were   biographies    of  the    noted 


THE  DA  V  OF  THE  WEDDING         227 

beauty  and  the  man  she  was  to  marry.  The 
Brussels  papers  teemed  with  the  arrivals  of 
distinguished  guests. 

Overcoming  Mrs.  Garrison's  objections,  Dor- 
othy had  insisted  on  and  obtained  special  per- 
mission to  have  a  night  wedding.  She  had 
dreamed  of  the  lights,  the  splendor,  the  bril- 
liancy of  an  after-sunset  wedding  and  would 
not  be  satisfied  until  all  barriers  were  put  aside. 

Dorothy's  uncle,  Henry  Van  Dykman,  her 
mother's  brother,  and  a  number  of  elated  New 
York  relatives  came  to  the  Belgian  capital, 
shedding  their  American  opulence  as  the  sun 
throws  out  its  light.  The  skill  of  a  general 
was  required  to  direct,  manage  and  control  the 
pageant  of  the  sixteenth.  Thousands  of  dol- 
lars were  tossed  into  the  cauldron  of  social 
ambition  by  the  lavish  mother,  who,  from 
behind  an  army  of  lieutenants,  directed  the 
preliminary  maneuvers. 

The  day  came  at  last  and  St.  Gudule's  pre- 
sented a  scene  so  bewilderingly,  so  dazzlingly 
glorious  that  all  Brussels  blinked  its  eyes  and 
was  awed  into  silence.  The  church  gleamed 
with  the  wealth  of  the  universe,  it  seemed, 
and  no  words  could  describe  the  brilliancy  of 
the  occasion.  The  hour  of  this  woman's  tri- 
umph had  come,  the  hour  of  the  Italian  con- , 


228  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

queror  had  come,  the  hour  of  the  victim  had 
come. 

In  front  of  the  house  in  the  Avenue  Louise, 
an  hour  before  the  beginning  of  the  ceremony, 
there  stood  the  landau  that  was  to  take  the 
bride  to  the  cathedral.  Carriage  after  carriage 
passed,  bearing  the  visitors  from  the  new  world, 
to  the  church.  All  were  gone  save  the  bride, 
her  mother  and  her  uncle.  Down  the  carpeted 
steps  and  across  to  the  door  of  the  carriage 
came  Dorothy  and  her  uncle,  followed  by  the 
genius  of  the  hour.  At  the  last  moment  Dor- 
othy shuddered,  turned  sick  and  faint  for  an 
instant,  as  she  thought  of  a  ship  far  out  at  sea. 

The  footman  swung  up  beside  the  driver,  and 
they  were  off  by  quiet  streets  toward  the 
church  where  waited  all  impatient,  the  vast 
assemblage  and  the  triumphant  prince.  The 
silence  inside  the  carriage  was  like  that  of  the 
tomb.  What  were  the  thoughts  of  the  occu- 
pants could  not  well  be  described. 

"Are  we  not  almost  there,  Dorothy?"  nerv- 
ously asked  her  mother,  after  many  minutes. 
"Good  heavens!  We  are  late!  O,  what  shall 
we  do?"  cried  she  in  despair.  In  an  instant 
the  somber  silence  of  the  cab's  interior  was 
lost.  The  girl  forgot  her  prayer  in  the  horror 
of  the  discovery  that  there  was  to  be  a  hitch 


THE  DA  V  OF  THE  WEDDING  229 

in  the  well-planned  arrangements.  Her  mother 
frantically  pulled  aside  the  curtains  and  looked 
out,  fondly  expecting  to  see  the  lights  of  St. 
Gudule  on  the  hill.  Uncle  Henry  dropped  his 
watch  in  his  nervousness  and  was  all  con- 
fusion. 

"We  are  not  near  the  church,  my — why, 
where  are  we?  I  have  never  seen  these  houses 
before.  Henry,  Henry,  call  to  the  driver!  He 
has  lost  his  way.     My  heavens,  be  quick!" 

It  was  not  necessary  to  hail  the  driver,  for  at 
that  instant  the  carriage  came  to  a  sudden 
standstill.  The  door  opened  quickly,  and 
before  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  occupants 
loomed  the  form  of  a  masked  man.  In  his 
hand  he  held  a  revolver. 


XX 

IVITH  STRANGE  COMPANIONS 

"A  word,  a  sound  and  I  fire!"  came  the  cold, 
hard  voice  of  the  man  in  the  mask.  He  spoke 
in  French.  The  trio  sat  petrified,  speechless, 
breathless.  So  sudden,  so  stunning  was  the 
shock  to  their  senses  that  they  were  as  graven 
images  for  the  moment.  There  was  no  impulse 
to  scream,  to  resist;  they  had  no  power  to  do 
either. 

"We  will  injure  no  one  unless  there  is  an 
outcry  or  a  struggle.  Monsieur,  Madame, 
there  is  no  occasion  for  alarm;  no  more  is  there 
a  chance  to  escape,"  said  the  mask  quietly. 
Three  pairs  of  eyes  looked  dumbly  into  the 
gleaming  holes  in  the  black  mask  that  covered 
his  face. 

"The  police?"  finally  whispered  Mrs.  Garri- 
son, coming  slowly  out  of  her  stupor. 

"Silence,  madame!  You  are  not  to  speak. 
Faint  if  you  like;  we  will  not  object  to  that 
and  it  may  be  a  relief  to  you,"  said  the  man, 
sarcastically  gallant.  "I  must  ask  you  to 
make  room  for  me  inside  the  carriage.  We 
230 


WITH  S  TRA  NGE  COM  PA  NIONS        231 

cannot  remain  here;  the  police  may  come  this 
way — I  mean  those  who  are  not  engaged  in 
guarding  the  grand  cathedral  to  which  you 
were  going."  He  was  inside  the  carriage  and 
sitting  beside  Dorothy  when  he  concluded  the 
last  observation.  With  a  shudder  she  drew 
away  from  him.  "Pardon,  Mademoiselle,  I 
must  implore  you  to  endure  my  presence  here 
for  a  time.  We  have  quite  a  distance  to  travel 
together." 

A  nameless  dread  sent  chills  to  the  hearts 
which  had  begun  to  thump  wildly  in  the  reac- 
tion.    What  did  he  mean? 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  us?" 
groaned  the  horrified  mother.  The  carriage 
was  now  moving  rapidly  over  the  pavement. 

"In  due  time  you  may  know,  Madame;  you 
have  only  to  be  patient.  For  the  moment,  it 
is  necessary  that  you  keep  perfectly  quiet. 
Although  you  are  a  woman,  I  shall  have  to  kill 
you  if  you  disobey  my  commands.  We  take 
desperate  chances  to-night  in  the  coup  which 
shall  make  all  Europe  ring  with  the  crowning 
act  of  the  great  diamond  robbers,  as  you  are 
pleased  to  call  us;  and  we  can  brook  no  resist- 
ance. You  see  my  revolver,  Monsieur,  it  is  on 
a  direct  line  with  your  breast.  You  are  Amer- 
icans, I  am  told,  and  your  people  are  noted  for 


232  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

coolness,  for  discretion  under  trying  circum- 
stances. Your  women  are  as  brave  as  your 
men.  I  merely  ask  you  to  call  your  cour- 
age  " 

"You  shall  not  go  on,  monster,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Garrison,  fiercely.  "Do  you  know  who 
we  are?  Surely  you  are  not  inhuman  enough 
to " 

"Madame!  I  warn  you  for  the  last  time. 
You  must  be  reasonable.  Resistance,  argu- 
ment, pleading  will  avail  you  nothing.  If  you 
desire  to  discuss  the  situation  calmly,  sensibly, 
you  may  do  so,  but  you  are  to  go  only  so  far 
as  I  see  fit.  Will  you  remember?"  There  was 
no  mistaking  the  earnestness  of  the  speaker, 
Mrs.  Garrison  realized  that  she  was  absolutely 
powerless,  completely  at  the  mercy  of  the  bold 
intruder. 

"What  must  we  pay,  then,  for  our  freedom? 
Name  the  price,  man.  Order  your  men  to 
drive  us  to  St.  Gudule's  and  anything  you  ask 
is  yours.  I  implore  you  to  be  generous. 
Think,  Monsieur,  think  what  this  means  to 
us!"  she  said,  desperately. 

"I  am  not  at  liberty  to  dictate  terms,  Madame. 
It  is  only  my  duty  to  carry  out  my  part  of  the 
transaction;  another  will  make  terms  with 
you." 


WITH  STRANGE  COMPANIONS       233 

"But  when?  When?  We  cannot  be  delayed 
a  moment  longer.  The  hour  has  already 
passed  when  my  daughter  should  be  before  the 
altar.  For  God's  sake,  name  your  price.  I 
will  pay,  I  will  pay,"  sobbed  the  half-crazed 
woman 

"Sir,  do  you  know  what  you  are  doing?" 
demanded  the  quaking  old  man,  finding  his 
voice  at  last.  "You  must  listen  to  reason. 
Think  of  yourself,  if  not  of  us.  What  will 
become  of  you  when  you  are  caught?  Pause 
in  this  awful  crime  and  think " 

"You  are  kind,  Monsieur,  to  advise  me,  but 
it  is  too  late." 

"Will  you  take  us  to  St.  Gudule's?"  cried 
the  elder  woman,  on  the  verge  of  collapse.  "I 
will  give  you  all  you  ask,  Monsieur." 

"Ten  thousand  dollars  is  yours  if  you  aban- 
don    this     damnable "     began    Mr.    Van 

Dykman. 

"It  will  avail  nothing  to  offer  me  money," 
interrupted  the  master  of  the  situation,  harshly. 
"That  is  the  end  of  it.  Believe  me,  money  is 
not  what  we  are  after  to-night.  To-morrow, 
perhaps,  it  may  tempt  us." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  us?"  cried 
the  girl,  horror  in  her  voice. 

"We   do   not    mean   to  harm  you,   Madem- 


234  CASTLE  CRANEYCROIV 

oiselle,  if  you  are  sensible  and  do  as  we  com- 
mand." 

"But  the  wedding,  the  wedding!"  moaned 
Mrs.  Garrison.  "What  will  they  think  of  us? 
O,  Monsieur,  if  you  are  one  of  the  great  dia- 
mond robbers  I  willingly  give  all  that  I  have 
about  me.  On  my  person  there  are  jewels 
valued  at  many  thousand " 

"Another  word,  Madame,  and  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  use  force,"  said  the  man,  leaning 
forward,  threateningly.  In  the  darkness  they 
could  feel  the  menace  in  his  eyes. 

"You  are  determined  to  go  on  with  this  out- 
rage?" asked  Van  Dykman. 

"A  coup  so  well  planned  as  this  cannot  be 
given  up.  Monsieur.  We  flatter  ourselves  that 
no  such  job  has  ever  graced  the  history  of 
Europe,"  said  the  stranger,  pleasantly.  "Down 
in  your  hearts,  I  believe  you  will  some  day 
express  admiration  for  the  way  in  which  the 
abduction  has  been  managed." 

"Abduction?"  gasped  Mrs.  Garrison.  Dor- 
othy sank  back  into  the  corner  at  that  word 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  heart  would 
never  beat  again. 

"Where  do  you  mean  to  take  us,  and  what  Is 
your  object?"  slowly  asked  Mrs.  Garrison,  a 
peculiar  sense  of  resignation  coming  over  her. 


WITH  STRANGE  COMPANIONS        235 

It  was  as  if  she  recognized  the  utter  hopeless- 
ness of  escape  from  the  hands  of  these  skillful 
wretches.  She  now  saw  that  the  mind  which 
had  planned  the  capture  was  one  that  could 
carry  the  game  to  the  end  without  a  flaw  in  the 
operations. 

"I  can  answer  neither  question,  Madame. 
Suffice  to  say  that  you  are  rich  and  we  are 
poor.  I  leave  the  rest  for  your  imagination. 
It  grieves  us,  of  course,  to  mar  the  grand  wed- 
ding of  to-night,  but  you  will  readily  under- 
stand that  at  no  other  time  could  we  find  you 
so  well  prepared.  Truly,  I  wonder  what  they 
are  doing  in  St.  Gudule." 

"My  coachman,  my  footman,  my  servants, 
it  seems,  are  your  accomplices,"  said  Mrs. 
Garrison,  steadily. 

"Not  at  all,  Madame.  To-morrow  your 
coachman  and  your  footman  will  be  found 
where  we  confined  them.  The  men  here  have 
never  been  in  your  employ.  I  could  recom- 
mend them  to  you,  however;  they  are  most 
trusty,  faithful  fellows,  and  they  would  be 
loyal  to  you  to  the  death." 

"For  God's  sake,  where  are  we?"  burst  forth 
Mr.  Van  Dykman,  unable  to  control  his  fear 
longer. 

"We  are  near  the  edge  of  the  city,  and  will 


236  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

soon  be  beyond  the  limits.  I  must  command 
absolute  silence  for  the  next  half-hour.  Not  a 
word  must  be  spoken  as  we  are  passing  a  point 
of  danger.  Do  not  permit  hope  of  rescue  to 
enter  your  minds,  however,  for  there  is  no 
chance.  I  may  enlighten  you  by  saying  that 
the  rev^olvers  I  carry  work  safely,  quietly  and 
very  effectually.  Will  you  join  me,  in  a  half- 
hour's  silent  consideration  of  the  scenes  that 
are  now  taking  place  in  old  St.  Gudule?  I  am 
sure  there  is  no  limit  to  the  imagination  when 
we  give  over  our  thoughts  to  that  subject." 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  desire  to 
shriek,  to  call  for  help,  to  tear  away  the  win- 
dow curtains,  the  three  helpless  captives  were 
unable  to  break  through  the  influence  this  lone 
bandit  spread  about  them.  The  thought  of  St. 
Gudule,  of  the  great  gathering,  of  the  impa- 
tience, the  consternation,  the  sensation  occa- 
sioned by  the  non-arrival  of  the  bride,  brought 
madness  to  the  brains  of  the  hapless  trio. 
Like  a  vivid  panorama  they  saw  everything 
that  was  going  on  in  the  church.  They  saw 
alarm  in  faces  of  those  closely  interested  in 
the  wedding,  heard  the  vague  rumors  and 
questionings,  the  order  for  the  search,  the 
report  of  accident,  and  then — the  police  and 
newspapers! 


WITH  STRANGE  COMPANIONS        237 

At  last  the  carriage  came  to  a  stop  and  the 
footman  swung  down  from  the  seat,  opening 
the  door  quickly.  That  they  were  far  beyond 
the  streets  of  the  city  was  apparent  in  the 
oppressive  stillness,  broken  only  by  the  heavy 
panting  of  the  horses.  "This  is  the  place," 
came  in  the  coarse  voice  of  the  footman,  "We 
have  no  time  to  lose." 

"Then  I  must  ask  you  to  get  down,  Mon- 
sieur, and  the  ladies.  We  are  about  to  enter  a 
house  for  a  short  while,  the  better  to  complete 
the  details  of  our  little  transactions.  Remem- 
ber, no  noise  means  no  violence  Be  quick, 
please."  Thus  spoke  the  man  in  the  seat,  who 
an  instant  later  stepped  forth  into  the  dark- 
ness. The  trembling,  sobbing  women  dragged 
themselves  to  the  ground,  their  gorgeous  gowns 
trailing  in  the  dust,  unthought  of  and  unpro- 
tected. Mr.  Van  Dykman,  old  as  he  was,  took 
courage  in  the  momentary  relaxation,  and 
attempted  to  halloo  for  help.  A  heavy  hand 
was  clasped  over  his  mouth  and  strong  arms 
subdued  his  show  of  resistance.  Swiftly 
across  a  short  stretch  of  ground  they  went,  up 
rickety  steps  and  into  the  black  hallway  of  a 
house.  There  were  stifled  moans  of  terror  on 
the  lips  of  the  two  women,  but  there  was  no 
resistance  save  the  weight    their  strengthless 


238  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

forms  imposed  upon  the  men  who  had  them  in 
charge.  There  was  no  light  in  the  house  and 
no  sign  that  it  was  occupied  by  others  than 
themselves. 

"We  remain  here  for  several  hours.  If  all 
goes  well,  you  will  then  be  at  liberty  to  depart 
for  your  home  in  the  city.  Here  is  a  chair, 
Madam.  Pray  be  seated.  Pardon  our  inability 
to  give  you  a  light.  You  will  be  patient,  I  am 
sure,  when  it  is  said  on  the  sacred  word  of  a 
gentleman  that  no  harm  is  to  come  to  you.  It 
is  only  necessary  that  you  remain  quiet  and 
await  the  hour  when  we  are  ready  to  release 
you.  I  must  ask  permission  to  lock  the  door 
of  this  room.  Before  dawn  your  friends  will 
be  here  to  take  you  away  in  safety.  Every- 
thing has  been  arranged  for  your  personal  wel- 
fare and  comfort.  Permit  me  to  say  good- 
night." 

"Where  are  we?"  demanded  the  old  man, 

"Why  have  you  brought  us  here?"  asked 
Mrs.  Garrison  from  the  arm  chair  into  which 
she  had  limply  fallen. 

"You  will  learn  everything  in  good  time. 
We  shall  be  just  outside  the  door,  and  will 
respond  promptly  if  you  need  our  help  to  the 
extent  of  shouting  for  it.  In  the  meantime 
your  horses  and  carriage  are  being  well  cared 


WITH  STRANGE  COMPANIONS         239 

for.  Be  of  good  heart  and  your  night  will  not 
be  a  long  one.  Believe  me,  I  hope  we  may 
meet  again  under  more  pleasing  conditions." 

The  door  closed  a  second  later  and  the  key 
clicked.  Then  came  the  shooting  of  a  bolt,  a 
short  scuffling  of  feet,  and  the  silence  of  the 
dead  reigned  over  the  strange  house.  Over- 
come with  dread,  the  occupants  of  the  room 
uttered  no  word,  no  sound  for  what  seemed  to 
them  an  hour.  Then  Mrs.  Garrison,  real  ten- 
derness in  her  voice,  called  softly  to  her 
daughter. 

"Darling,  can  you  find  me  in  this  darkness? 
Come  to  me.  Let  me  hold  you  close  in  my 
arms,  Dorothy,  poor,  poor  child." 

But  there  was  no  response  to  the  appeal,  nor 
to  a  second  and  a  third  call.  The  mother 
sprang  to  her  feet  in  sudden  terror,  her  heart 
fluttering  wildly. 

"Henry!  Are  you  here?  Where  is — what 
has  happened  to  Dorothy?"  she  cried.  A 
trembling  old  man  and  a  frantic  woman 
bumped  against  each  other  in  the  darkness  and 
the  search  began.  There  were  but  two  people 
in  the  room!  Following  this  alarming  discov- 
ery one  of  these  persons  swooned  and  the 
other  battered,  like  a  madman,  against  the 
heavy,  stubborn  door. 


240  CASTLE  CRANEYCROiV 

Far  away  in  the  night  bowled  a  carriage 
drawn  by  sturdy  horses.  The  clouds  broke 
and  the  rain  fell.  Thunder  and  lightning  ran 
rampant  in  the  skies,  but  nothing  served  to 
lessen  the  speed  of  that  swift  flight  over  the 
highways  leading  into  the  sleep-ridden  coun- 
try. Inside  the  cab,  not  the  one  in  which  Dor- 
othy Garrison  had  begun  her  journey  to  the 
altar,  but  another  and  less  pretentious,  sat 
the  grim  desperado  and  a  half-dead  woman. 
Whither  they  flew  no  one  knew  save  the  man 
who  held  the  reins  over  the  plunging  horses. 
Hov/  long  their  journey — well,  it  was  to  have 
an  end. 

True  to  the  promise  made  by  the  bandit,  a 
clattering  band  of  horsemen  dashed  up  to  the 
lonely  house  at  the'  break  of  dawn.  They 
were  led  by  Prince  Ugo  Ravorelli,  dishevelled, 
half-crazed,  A  shivering  woman  in  silks  and 
a  cowering  old  man  sobbed  with  joy  when  the 
rescuers  burst  through  the  door.  Tacked  to  a 
panel  in  the  door  was  an  ominous,  ghost-like 
paper  on  which  was  printed  the  following  mes- 
sage from  the  night  just  gone: 

"In  time  the  one  who  is  missing  shall  be 
returned  to  the  arms  of  her  mother,  absolutely 
unharmed.  She  will  be  well  cared  for  by  those 
who  have  her  in  charge.     After  a  reasonable 


IV/TH  STRANGE  COMPANIONS        241 

length  of  time  her  friends  will  be  informed  as 
to  the  terms  on  which  she  may  be  restored  to 
them." 

Mrs.  Garrison,  more  dead  than  alive,  was 
conveyed  to  her  home  in  the  Avenue  Louise, 
there  to  recover  her  strength  with  astonishing 
quickness.  This  vastly  purposeful,  indomita- 
ble woman,  before  many  hours  had  passed,  was 
calmly  listening  to  plans  for  the  capture  of  her 
daring  abductors  and  the  release  of  her 
daughter.  Friends,  overcome  with  the  horror 
of  the  hour,  flocked  to  her  aid  and  comfort; 
the  government  offered  its  assistance  and  the 
police  went  to  work  as  one  massive  sleuth- 
hound.  Newspapers  all  over  the  world  fairly 
staggered  under  the  burden  of  news  they  car- 
ried to  their  readers,  and  people  everywhere 
stood  aghast  at  the  most  audacious  outrage  in 
the  annals  of  latter-day  crime. 

As  completely  lost  as  if  the  earth  had  swal- 
lowed them  were  the  diamond  robbers — for  all 
the  world  accepted  them  as  the  perpetrators — 
and  their  fair  prize.  No  one  saw  the  carriage 
after  it  turned  off  the  Avenue  Louise  on  the 
night  of  the  abduction;  no  one  saw  the  party 
leave  the  lonely  house  in  the  country.  A 
placard  found  on  the  steps  of  a  prominent  cit- 
izen's home  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning 


242  CASTLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

told  the  frenzied  searchers  where  to  look  for 
the  mother  and  the  uncle  of  the  missing  girl. 

A  reward  of  100,000  francs  for  the  arrest  of 
the  abductors  or  the  return  of  Miss  Garrison 
was  offered  at  once  by  the  stony-faced  woman 
in  the  Avenue  Louise,  and  detectives  flew 
about  like  bees.  Every  city  in  the  land  was 
warned  to  be  on  the  lookout,  every  village  was 
watched,  every  train  and  station  was  guarded. 
Nine  in  every  ten  detectives  maintained  that 
she  was  still  in  Brussels,  and  house  after  house, 
mansion  after  mansion  was  searched. 

Three  days  after  the  abduction  word  came 
from  London  that  four  men  and  a  young 
woman,  apparently  insane,  all  roughly  attired, 
had  come  to  that  city  from  Ostend,  and  had 
disappeared  before  the  officials  were  fully  cog- 
nizant of  their  arrival.  The  woman,  according 
to  the  statements  of  men  who  saw  her  on  the 
train,  was  beautiful  and  pale  as  with  the  sick- 
ness that  promised  death. 


XXI 

THE  HOME   OF   THE  BRIGANDS 

It  was  past  midnight,  after  a  wild  ride 
through  the  storm,  when  an  old  gentleman  and 
his  wife,  with  their  sick  daughter,  boarded  a 
fast  eastbound  train  at  Namur.  Had  the  offi- 
cers of  the  law  known  of  the  abduction  at  that 
hour  it  would  have  been  an  easy  matter  to  dis- 
cover that  the  loose-flowing  gown  which  envel- 
oped the  almost  unconscious,  partially  veiled 
daughter,  hid  a  garment  of  silk  so  fine  that 
the  whole  world  ho.d  read  columns  concerning 
its  beauty.  The  gray  beard  of  the  rather  dis- 
tinguished old  man  could  have  been  removed 
at  a  single  grasp,  while  the  wife,  also  veiled, 
wore  the  clothing  of  a  man  underneath  the 
skirts.  The  father  and  mother  were  all  atten- 
tion to  their  unfortunate  child,  who  looked 
into  their  faces  with  wide,  hopeless  eyes  and 
uttered  no  word  of  complaint,  no  sound  of 
pain. 

At  a  small  station  some  miles  from  the  bor- 
der line  of  the  grand  duchy  of  Luxemburg, 
the  party  left  the  coach  and  were  met  by  a 
243 


244  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

carnage  in  which  they  whirled  away  in  the 
darkness  that  comes  just  before  dawn.  The 
horses  flew  swiftly  toward  the  line  that  sepa- 
rates Belgium  from  the  grand  duchy,  and  the 
sun  was  barely  above  the  bank  of  trees  on  the 
highlands  in  the  east  when  the  carriage  of  the 
impetuous  travelers  drew  up  in  front  of  a  pic- 
turesque roadside  inn  just  across  the  bound- 
ary. The  sweat-flecked  horses  were  quickly 
stabled  and  the  occupants  of  the  vehicle  were 
comfortably  and  safely  quartered  in  a  darkened 
room  overlooking  the  highway. 

So  ill  was  the  daughter,  explained  the 
father,  that  she  was  not  to  be  disturbed  on  any 
account  or  pretext.  Fatigued  by  the  long  ride 
from  their  home  in  the  north,  she  was  unable 
to  continue  the  journey  to  Luxemburg  until 
she  had  had  a  day  of  rest.  At  the  big  city  she 
was  to  be  placed  in  the  care  of  the  most  noted 
of  surgeons.  Full  of  compassion,  the  keeper 
of  the  inn  and  his  good  wife  did  all  in  their 
power  to  carry  out  the  wishes  cjf  the  distressed 
father,  particularly  as  he  was  free  with  his 
purse.  It  did  not  strike  them  as  peculiar  that 
the  coachman  remained  at  the  stable  closely, 
and  that  early  in  the  day  his  horses  were 
attached  to  the  mud-covered  carriage,  as  if 
ready  for  a  start  on  the  notice  of  a  moment. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  BRIGANDS       245 

The  good  man  and  his  wife  and  the  few  peas- 
ants who  were  told  of  the  suffering  guest,  in 
order  that  they  might  talk  in  lowered  voices 
and  refrain  from  disturbing  noises,  did  not  know 
that  the  "mother"  of  the  girl  sat  behind  the 
curtains  of  an  upstairs  window  watching  the 
road  in  both  directions,  a  revolver  on  the 
sill. 

The  fact  that  the  strange  party  decided  to 
depart  for  Luxemburg  just  before  nightfall 
did  not  create  surprise  in  their  simple  breasts, 
for  had  not  the  anxious  father  said  they  would 
start  as  soon  as  his  daughter  felt  equal  to  the 
journey?  So  eager  were  they  to  deliver  her 
over  to  the  great  doctor  who  alone  could  save 
her  life.  With  a  crack  of  the  whip  and  a  gruff 
shout  of  farewell  to  the  gaping  stableboy  who 
had  been  his  companion  for  a  day,  the  driver 
of  the  early  morning  coach  whirled  into  the 
road  and  off  toward  the  city  of  precipices. 
No  one  about  the  inn  knew  who  the  brief 
sojourners  were,  nor  did  they  know  whence 
they  came.  The  stableboy  noted  the  letter 
S  blazoned  on  the  blinds  of  the  horses'  bridles, 
but  there  were  no  letters  on  the  carriage. 
There  had  been,  but  there  was  evidence  that 
they  had  been  unskillfully  removed. 

Late  in  the  night  the  coachman  pulled  rein 


24«  CA  STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

and  a  man  on  horseback  rode  up,  opened  the 
door  and  softly  inquired  after  the  welfare  of 
the  occupants.  With  a  command  to  follow,  he 
rode  away  through  a  narrow,  uncertain  wagon 
path.  When  the  way  became  rough  and  dan- 
gerous, he  dismounted  and  climbed  to  the  boot 
of  the  cab,  the  coachman  going  to  the  empty 
saddle.  Half  an  hour  later  the  new  coachman 
stopped  the  puffing  horses  in  front  of  a  great, 
black  shadow  from  which,  here  and  there,  lights 
beamed  cheerfully.  From  the  back  of  the 
vehicle  the  two  men  unstrapped  the  heavy 
steamer  trunk  which  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Brussels  with  the  party,  and  then  the 
doors  of  the  big  shadow  opened  and  closed 
behind  Dorothy  Garrison  and  her  captors.  So 
skillfully  and  so  audaciously  were  the  plans  of 
the  abductors  carried  out  that  when  Miss  Gar- 
rison entered  a  room  set  apart  for  her  in  the 
great  house,  after  passing  through  long,  gro- 
tesque and  ill-lighted  corridors,  she  found  an 
open  trunk  full  of  garments  she  had  expected 
to  wear  on  her  wedding  journey! 

A  trim  and  pretty  English  maid  entered  the 
room  the  instant  it  was  vacated  by  the  gray- 
bearded  man  and  the  tall  person  who  had  posed 
as  his  wife.  While  Dorothy  sat  like  a  statue, 
gazing    upon   her,    the   young  woman    lighted 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  BRIGANDS       347 

other  candles  in  the  apartment  and  then  came 
to  the  side  of  the  mute,  wretched  newcomer. 

"Will  you  let  me  prepare  you  for  bed,  miss? 
It  is  very  late,  and  you  must  be  tired.  Would 
you  like  anything  to  eat  before  retiring?"  she 
asked,  as  quietly  as  if  she  had  been  in  her 
service  forever. 

"In  heaven's  name,  where  am  I?  Tell  me 
what  does  it  all  mean?  What  are  they  going 
to  do  with  me?"  cried  Dorothy,  hoarsely, 
clutching  the  girl's  hand. 

"You  could  not  be  in  safer  hands.  Miss  Gar- 
rison," said  the  maid,  kindly.  "I  am  here  to 
do  all  that  is  your  pleasure." 

"All?  Then  I  implore  you  to  aid  me  in  get- 
ting   from "    began    Dorothy,    excitedly, 

coming  to  her  unsteady  feet. 

"I  am  loyal  to  others  as  well  as  to  you," 
interposed  the  maid,  firmly.  "To-morrow  you 
will  find  that— but,  there,  I  must  say  no  more. 
Your  bedchamber  is  off  here,  Miss.  You 
will  let  me  prepare  you  for  the  sleep  you  need 
so  much?     No  harm  can  come  to  you  here." 

Dorothy  suddenly  felt  her  courage  returning; 
her  brain  began  to  busy  itself  with  hopes, 
prospects,  plans.  After  all  they  could  not, 
would  not  kill  her;  she  was  too  valuable  to 
them.     There  was  the  chance  of  escape  and 


248  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

new  strength  in  the  belief  that  she  could  in 
some  way  outwit  them;  there  was  a  vast  differ- 
ence between  the  woman  who  suffered  herself 
to  be  put  to  bed  by  the  deft,  kindly  maid,  and 
the  one  who  dragged  herself  hopelessly  into 
the  room  such  a  short  time  before.  With  the 
growth  of  hope  and  determination  there  came 
the  courage  to  inspect  her  surroundings. 

The  rooms  were  charming.  There  was  a 
generous,  kindly  warmth  about  them  that  sug- 
gested luxury,  refinement  and  the  hand  of  a 
connoiseur.  The  rugs  were  of  rare  quality,  the 
furnishings  elegant,  the  appointments  modern 
and  complete.  She  could  not  suppress  a  long 
breath  of  surprise  and  relief;  it  was  no  easy 
matter  to  convince  herself  that  she  was  not  in 
some  fastidious  English  home.  Despite  the 
fearful  journey,  ending  in  the  perilous  ascent 
over  rocks  and  gullies,  she  felt  herself  glowing 
with  the  belief  that  she  was  still  in  Brussels, 
or,  at  the  worst,  in  Liege.  Her  amazement  on 
finding  her  own  trunk  and  the  garments  she 
had  left  in  her  chamber  the  night  before  was 
so  great  that  her  troubled,  bewildered  mind 
raced  back  to  the  days  when  she  marvelled 
over  Aladdin's  wonderful  lamp  and  the  genii. 
How  could  they  have  secured  her  dresses? 
But  how  could  anything  be  impossible  to  these 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  BRIGANDS       249 

masters  in  crime?  Once  when  her  eyes  fell 
upon  the  dark  windows  a  wistful,  eager 
expression  came  into  them.  The  maid 
observed  the  look,  and  smiled. 

"It  is  fully  fifty  feet  to  the  ground,"  she 
said,  simply.  Miss  Garrison  sighed  and  then 
smiled  resignedly. 

Worn  out  in  body  and  mind,  she  sank  into 
sleep  even  while  the  mighty,  daring  resolve  to 
rush  over  and  throw  herself  from  the  window 
was  framing  itself  in  her  brain.  The  resolve 
was  made  suddenly,  considered  briefly  and 
would  have  been  acted  on  precipitously  had 
not  the  drowsy,  lazy  influence  of  slumber 
bade  her  to  wait  a  minute,  then  another  min- 
ute, another  and  another,  and  then — to  forget. 

Sunlight  streamed  into  the  room  when  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and  for  a  few  minutes  she 
was  in  a  state  of  uncanny  perplexity.  Where 
was  she?  In  whose  bed — then  she  remembered. 
With  the  swiftness  of  a  cat  she  left  the  bed 
and  flew  to  the  window  to  look  out  upon — 
space  at  first,  then  the  trees  and  rocks  below. 
The  ground  seemed  a  mile  below  the  spot 
on  which  she  stood.  Gasping  with  dread  she 
shrank  back  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
tense  fingers. 

"Are  you  ready  for  me,  Miss?"  asked  a  soft 


250  CAS TLE  CRA NE YCRO  W 

voice  from  somewhere,  and  Dorothy  whirled  to 
face  the  maid.  Her  throat  choked,  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  of  the  reawakening,  her  heart 
throbbed  so  faintly  that  her  hand  went  forth  to 
find  support.  The  little  maid  put  her  strong, 
gentle  arm  about  the  trembling  girl  and  drew 
her  again  to  the  bed  "They  are  expecting 
you  down  to  breakfast,  but  I  was  instructed 
not  to  hurry  you,  Miss." 

"To  breakfast?"  gasped  Dorothy,  staring  at 
the  girl  as  if  her  eyes  would  pop  out.  "Wha — 
what!     The  impudence!" 

"But  you  must  eat,  you  know." 

"With  —  with  these  despicable  wretches? 
Never!  I  will  starve  first!  Go  away  from  me! 
I  do  not  need  you.  I  want  to  be  alone,  abso- 
lutely alone.  Do  you  hear?"  She  violently 
shoved  the  girl  away  from  her,  but  the  friendly 
smile  did  not  leave  the  latter's  face. 

"When  you  need  me.  Miss,  I  am  in  the  next 
room.,"  she  said,  calmly,  and  was  gone. 
Anger,  pure  and  simple,  brought  sobs  from  the 
very  heart  of  the  girl  who  lay  face  downward 
on  the  crumpled  bed. 

A  new  impulse  inspired  her  to  call  sharply 
to  the  maid,  and  a  moment  later  she  was 
hastily,  nervously,  defiantly  preparing  herself  to 
face   the    enemy    and  —  breakfast.      Tingling 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  BRIGANDS       251 

with  some  trepidation  and  some  impatience, 
she  led  the  maid  through  a  strenuous  half- 
hour.  What  with  questions,  commands, 
implorings,  reprimands,  complaints  and  fault- 
findings, the  poor  girl  had  a  sad  time  of  it. 
When  at  last  Miss  Garrison  stood  ready  to 
descend  upon  the  foe  she  was  the  picture  of 
defiance.  With  a  steady  stride  she  followed 
the  maid  to  the  door.  Just  as  it  was  opened  a 
strong,  rollicking  baritone  voice  came  ringing 
through  the  halls  attuned  in  song: 

"In  the  days  of  old  when  knights  were  bold, 
And  barons  held  their  sway,"  etc. 

Dorothy  stopped  stockstill  in  the  doorway, 
completely  overwhelmed.  She  turned  help- 
lessly to  the  maid,  tried  to  gasp  the  question 
that  filled  her  mind,  and  then  leaned  weakly 
against  the  wall.  The  singer's  voice  grew  sud- 
denly fainter  with  the  slam  of  a  door,  and 
while  its  music  could  still  be  heard  distinctly, 
she  knew  that  he  of  the  merry  tones  had  left 
the  lower  hallway.  F'eebly  she  began  to  won- 
der what  manner  of  men  these  thieves  could 
be,  these  miscreants  who  lived  in  a  castle,  who 
had  lady's  maids  about  them,  who  sang  in 
cheery  tones  and  who  knew  neither  fear  nor 
caution. 


252  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

"One  of  the  new  guests  who  came  last 
night,"  explained  the  maid,  unconcernedly. 

"One  who  came — who  came  with  me?  O, 
how  can  such  a  wretch  sing  so  gayly?  Have 
they  been  drinking  all  night?"  cried  Dorothy, 
shrinking  back  into  the  room. 

"Lor',  no.  Miss,  there  can't  be  any  such 
goings  on  as  that  here.  I  think  they  are  wait- 
ing for  you  in  the  breakfast  room,"  said  the 
girl,  starting  down  the  broad  steps. 

"I'd  sooner  die  than  venture  among  those 
ruffians!" 

"But  the  ladies  are  expecting  you." 

"Ladies!     Here?"  gasped  Dorothy. 

"Yes,  Miss;  why  not?" 

Dorothy's  head  whirled  again.  In  a  dazed 
sort  of  way  she  glanced  down  at  her  morning 
gown,  her  mind  slowly  going  back  to  the  glit- 
tering costume  she  had  worn  the  night  before. 
Was  it  all  a  dream?  Scarcely  knowing  what 
she  did,  she  followed  the  girl  down  the  steps, 
utterly  without  purpose,  drawn  as  by  some 
strange  subtle  force  to  the  terminal  point  in 
the  mystery. 

Through  the  dimly-lighted  hall  she  passed 
with  heart  throbbing  wildly,  expecting  she 
knew  not  what.  Her  emotions  as  she 
approached    the   door   she    could   have    never 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  BRIGANDS       253 

told,  so  tumultuously  were  they  surging  one 
upon  the  other.  The  maid  grasped  the  huge 
knob  and  swung  wide  the  door,  from  whose 
threshold  she  was  to  look  upon  a  picture  that 
would  linger  in  her  mind  to  the  end  of  time. 

A  great  sunlit  room;  a  long  table  and  high- 
backed  Flemish  chairs;  a  bewildering  group  of 
men  and  women;  a  chorus  of  friendly  voices; 
and  then  familiar  faces  began  to  stand  out 
plainly  before  her  eyes. 

Lady  Saxondale  was  advancing  toward  the 
door  with  outstretched  hands  and  smiling  face. 
Over  her  shoulder  the  dumbfounded  girl  saw 
Lady  Jane  Oldham,  Saxondale,  happy  faced 
Dickey  Savage  and — Philip  Quentin! 


XXII 

CASTLE    CRANEYCROW 

Dorothy  staggered  into  the  arms  of  Lady 
Saxondale,  choking  with  a  joy  that  knew  no 
bounds,  stupefied  past  all  power  of  understand- 
ing. She  only  saw  and  knew  that  she  was 
safe,  that  some  strange  miracle  had  been 
wrought  and  that  there  were  no  terrible,  cruel- 
hearted  robbers  in  sight.  It  was  some  time 
before  she  could  utter  a  word  to  those  who 
stood  about  eagerly — anxiously — watching  the 
play  of  emotions  in  her  face. 

"O,  you  will  never  know  how  glorious  you 
all  look  to  me.  How  is  it  that  I  am  here? 
Where  are  those  awful  men?  What  has  hap- 
pened to  me,  Lady  Saxondale,  tell  me?  I  can- 
not breathe  till  everything  is  explained  to 
me,"  she  cried,  her  voice  trembling  with  glad- 
ness. In  her  vast  exuberance  she  found 
strength  and  with  it  the  desire  to  embrace  all 
these  good  friends.  Her  ecstatic  exhibition  of 
joy  lost  its  violence  after  she  had  kissed  and 
half  crushed  Lady  Jane  and  had  grasped  both 
of  Lord  Bob's  big  hands  convulsively.  The 
254 


CASTLE  CRANEYCROW  255 

young  men  came  in  for  a  much  more  formal 
and  decorous  greeting.  For  an  instant  she 
found  herself  looking  into  Quentin's  eyes,  as 
he  clasped  her  hand,  and  there  was  a  strange 
light  in  them  —  a  bright,  eager,  victorious 
gleam  which  puzzled  her  not  a  little.  "O,  tell 
me  all  about  it!  Please  do!  I've  been  through 
such  a  terrible  experience.  Can  it  be  true  that 
I  am  really  here  with  you?" 

"You  certainly  are,  my  dear,"  said  Lady 
Saxondale,  smiling  at  her,  then  glancing  invol- 
untarily into  the  faces  of  the  others,  a  queer 
expression  in  her  eyes. 

"Where  is  mamma?  I  must  go  to  her  at 
once.  Lady  Saxondale.  The  wretches  were  so 
cruel  to  her  and  to  poor  Uncle  Henry — good 
heavens!  Tell  me!  They  did  not — did  not  kill 
her!"  She  clutched  at  the  back  of  a  chair  and 
— grasped  Quentin's  arm  as  it  swept  forward  to 
keep  her  from  falling. 

"Your  mother  is  safe  and  well,"  cried  Lady 
Saxondale,  quickly.  "She  is  in  Brussels,  how- 
ever, and  not  here,  Dorothy." 

"And  where  am  I?  Are  you  telling  the 
truth?  Is  she  truly  safe  and  well?  Then,  why 
isn't  she  here?"  she  cried,  uneasily,  appre- 
hensively. 

"It  takes  a  long  story,  Miss  Garrison,"  said 


256  CASTLE  CRANE  YLROW 

Lord  Bob,  soberly.  "I  think  you  would  better 
wait  till  after  breakfast  for  the  full  story,  so  far 
as  it  is  known  to  us.  You'll  feel  better  and  I 
know  you  must  be  as  hungry  as  a  bear." 

There  was  a  troubled,  uncertain  pucker  tc 
her  brow,  a  pleading  look  in  her  eyes  as  she 
suffered  herself  to  be  led  to  a  chair  near  thu 
end  of  the  table.  It  had  not  struck  her  as  odd 
that  the  others  were  deplorably  devoid  of  the 
fervor  that  should  have  manifested  itself,  in 
words,  at  least.  There  was  an  air  of  restraint 
almost  oppressive,  but  she  failed  to  see  it,  and 
it  was  not  long  until  it  was  so  cleverly  suc- 
ceeded by  a  genial  warmth  of  manner  that  she 
never  knew  the  severity  of  the  strain  upon  the 
spirits  of  that  small  company. 

Suddenly  she  half  started  from  the  chair, 
her  gaze  fastened  on  Quentin's  face.  He  read 
the  question  in  her  eyes  and  answered  before 
she  could  frame  it  into  words. 

"I  did  not  sail  for  New  York,  at  all,"  he 
said,  with  an  assumption  of  ease  he  did  not 
feel.  "Dickey  and  I  accepted  Lord  Saxon- 
dale's  pressing  invitation  to  stop  off  with 
them  for  awhile.  I  don't  wonder  that  you  are 
surprised  to  find  us  here." 

"I  am  not  surprised  at  anything  now,"  she 
said  in  perplexed  tones.     "But  we  are  not  in 


CASTLE  CRANEYCROW  257 

England;  we  were  not  on  the  water.  And  all 
those  trees  and  hills  and  rocks  I  saw  from  the 
window — where  are  we?" 

"In  the  grimmest,  feudliest,  ghastliest  old 
place  between  Brussels  and  Anthony  Hope's 
domain.  This  is  Castle  Craneycrow;  a  real, 
live  castle  with  parapets,  bastions,  traditions 
and,  I  insist — though  they  won't  believe  me — 
snakes  and  mice  and  winged  things  that 
screech  and  yowl."  So  spoke  Lady  Jane, 
eagerly.  Miss  Garrison  was  forgetting  to  eat 
in  her  wonder,  and  Mr.  Savage  was  obliged  to 
remind  her  that  "things  get  cold  mighty  quick 
in  these  baronial  ice-houses." 

"I  know  it's  a  castle,  but  where  is  it  located? 
And  how  came  you  here?" 

"That's  it,"  quoth  Mr.  Savage,  serenely. 
"How  came  we  here?  I  repeat  the  question 
and  supply  the  answer.  We  came  by  the  grace 
of  God  and  more  or  less  luck." 

"O,  I'll  never  understand  it  at  all,"  com- 
plained Dorothy,  in  despair.  "Now,  you  must 
answer  my  questions,  one  by  one,  Lord  Saxon- 
dale.    To  whom  does  the  castle  belong?" 

"To  the  Earl  of  Saxondale,  ma'am." 

"Then,  I  know  where  it  is.  This  is  the  old 
place  in  Luxemburg  you  were  telling  me 
about." 


258  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"That  isn't  a  question,  but  you  are  righ\    ' 

"But  how  is  it  that  I  am  here?" 

"You  can  answer  that  question  better  tha  ,  I, 
Miss  Garrison." 

"I  only  know  those  wretches — the  one  who 
disguised  himself  as  my  father  and  th--  one 
who  tried  to  be  my  mother — jostled  rne  till  \ 
was  half  dead  and  stopped  eventually  at  tht. 
doors — O,  O,  O!"  she  broke  off,  in  startled 
tones,  dropping  her  fork.  "They — they  did 
not  really  bring  me  here — to  your  house,  did 
they?" 

"They  were  good  enough  to  turn  you  over 
to  our  keeping  last  night,  and  we  2  re  overjoyed 
to  have  you  here." 

"Then,"  she  exclaimed,  tragically,  rising  to 
her  feet,  "where  are  the  men  wuo  brought  me 
here?"  A  peculiar  and  rather  mirthless  smile 
passed  from  one  to  the  othei  of  her  compan- 
ions and  it  angered  her.  "I  demand  an  explan- 
ation. Lord  Saxondale." 

"I  can  give  none,  Miss  Garrison,  upon  my 
soul.  It  is  very  far  from  clear  to  me.  You 
were  brought  to  my  doors  last  night,  and  I 
pledge  myself  to  protect  you  with  my  life. 
No  harm  shall  come  to  you  here,  and  at  the 
proper  time  I  am  sure  everything  will  be  made 
clear  to  you,  and  you  will  be  satisfied.    Believe 


CASTLE  CRANE YCRO W  259 

me,  you  are  among  your  dearest  friends " 

"Dearest  friends!"  she  cried,  bitterly.  "You 
insult  me  by  running  away  from  my  wedding, 
you  league  yourselves  with  the  fiends  who  com- 
mitted the  worst  outrage  that  men  ever  con- 
ceived, and  now  you  hold  me  here  a— a 
prisoner!  Yes,  a  prisoner!  I  do  not  foiget 
the  words  of  the  maid  who  attended  me;  1  do 
not  forget  the  inexplicable  presence  of  my 
traveling  clothes  in  this  house,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  that  my  abductors  came  direct  to 
your  castle,  wherever  it  may  be.  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  they  brought  me  here  without 
an  understanding  with  you?  Oh!  I  see  it  all 
now!     You — you  perpetrated  this  outrage!" 

"On  the  contrary,  Miss  Garrison,  I  am  the 
meekest  and  lowliest  of  English  squires,  and  I 
am  in  no  way  leagued  with  a  band  of  robbers. 
Perhaps,  if  you  will  wait  a  little  while.  Lady 
Saxondale  may  throw  some  light  on  the  mys- 
tery that  puzzles  you.  You  surely  will  trust 
Lady  Saxondale." 

"Lady  Saxondale  did  me  the  honor  to  com- 
mand me  to  give  up  Prince  Ravorelli.  I  am 
not  married  to  him  and  I  am  here,  in  her 
home,  a  prisoner,"  said  Dorothy,  scornfully. 
"I  do  not  understand  why  I  am  here  and  I  do 
not  know  that  you  are  my  friends.    Everything 


260  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

is  so  queer,  so  extraordinary  that  I  don't  know 
how  to  feel  toward  you.  When  you  satisfac- 
torily explain  it  all  to  me,  I  maybe  able  to  for- 
get the  feeling  I  have  for  you  now  and  once 
more  regard  you  as  friends.  It  is  quite  clear 
to  me  that  I  am  not  to  have  the  privilege  of 
quitting  the  castle  without  your  consent;  I 
acknowledge  myself  a  prisoner  and  await  your 
pleasure.  You  will  find  me  in  the  room  to 
which  you  sent  me  last  night.  I  cannot  sit  at 
your  table,  feeling  that  you  are  not  my 
friends;  1  should  choke  with  every  mouth- 
ful." 

No  one  sought  to  bar  her  way  from  the  din- 
ing-room. Perhaps  no  one  there  felt  equal  to 
the  task  of  explaining,  on  the  moment,  the 
intricacies  of  a  very  unusual  transaction,  for 
no  one  had  quite  expected  the  bolt  to  fall  so 
sharply.  She  paced  the  floor  of  her  room 
angrily,  bewailing  the  fate  that  brought  her  to 
this  fortress  among  the  rocks.  Time  after  time 
she  paused  at  the  lofty  windows  to  look  upon 
the  trees,  the  little  river  and  the  white  roadbed 
far  below.  There  was  no  escape  from  this 
isolated  pile  of  stone;  she  was  confined  as  were 
Bluebeard's  victims  in  the  days  of  giants  and 
ogres  and  there  were  no  fairy  queens  to  break 
down  the  walls  and  set  her  free.    Each  thought 


CASTLE  CRANEYCROW  261 

left  the  deeper  certainty  that  the  people  in  the 
room  below  were  banded  against  her.  An  hour 
later,  Lady  Saxondale  found  her,  her  flushed 
face  pressed  to  the  window  pane  that  looked 
down  upon  the  world  as  if  out  of  the  sky. 

"I  suppose,  Lady  Saxondale,  you  are  come 
to  assure  me  again  that  I  am  perfectly  safe  in 
your  castle,"  said  the  prisoner,  turning  at  the 
sound  of  her  ladyship's  voice. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  the  whole  story, 
from  your  wedding  to  the  present  moment. 
Nothing  is  to  be  hidden  from  you,  my  dear 
Miss  Garrison.  You  may  not  now  consider  us 
your  friends,  but  some  day  you  will  look  back 
and  be  thankful  we  took  such  desperate,  dan- 
gerous means  to  protect  you,"  said  Lady  Sax- 
ondale, coming  to  the  window.  Dorothy's 
eyes  were  upon  the  outside  world  and  they 
were  dark  and  rebellious.  The  older  woman 
complacently  stationed  herself  beside  the  girl 
and  for  a  few  moments  neither  spoke. 

"I  am  ready  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say," 
came  at  last  from  Miss  Garrison. 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  inform  you  that  you 
were  abducted " 

"Not  in  the  least!  The  memory  of  the  past 
two  days  is  vivid  enough,"  said  Miss  Garrison, 
with  cutting  irony  in  her  voice. 


262  CASTLE  CRANEYCRO  W 

"But  it  may  interest  you  to  know  the 
names  of  your  abductors,"  said  the  other, 
calmly. 

"I  could  not  miss  them  far  in  guessing, 
Lady  Saxondale." 

"It  was  necessary  for  some  one  to  deliver 
you  from  the  villain  you  were  to  marry,  by  the 
most  effective  process.  There  is  but  one  per- 
son in  all  this  world  who  cares  enough  for  you 
to  undertake  the  stupendous  risk  your  abduc- 
tion incurred.  You  need  not  be  told  his 
name." 

"You  mean,"  said  Dorothy,  scarcely  above 
a  whisper,  "that  Philip  Quentin  planned  and 
executed  this  crime?" 

Lady  Saxondale  nodded. 

"And  I  am  his  prisoner?"  breathlessly. 

"You  are  under  his  protection;  that  is  all." 

"Do   you    call   it  protection  to "   began 

Dorothy,  her  eyes  blazing,  but  Lady  Saxon- 
dale interrupted  firmly. 

"You  are  his  prisoner,  then,  and  we  are  your 
jailers.     Have  it  as  you  will." 

Lady  Saxondale  proceeded  to  relate  the  his- 
tory of  Philip  Quentin's  achievement.  Instead 
of  sailing  for  New  York,  he  surrendered  to  his 
overpowering  love  and  fell  to  work  perfecting 
the  preposterous  plan  that  had  come  to  him 


CA STLE  CRANE  YCRO  W  263 

as  a  vision  in  the  final  hour  of  despair.  There 
was  but  little  time  in  which  to  act,  and  there 
was  stubborn  opposition  to  fight  against.  The 
Saxondales  were  the  only  persons  to  whom  he 
could  turn,  and  not  until  after  he  had  fairly- 
fought  them  to  earth  did  they  consent  to  aid 
him  in  the  undertaking.  There  remained  to 
perform,  then,  the  crowning  act  in  this  appar- 
ently insane  transaction.  The  stealing  of  a 
woman  on  whom  the  eyes  of  all  the  world 
seemed  riveted  was  a  task  that  might  well 
confound  the  strategy  of  the  most  skillful 
general,  but  it  did  not  worry  the  determined 
American. 

Wisely  he  chose  the  wedding  day  as  the  best 
on  which  to  carry  out  his  project.  The  hulla- 
balloo  that  would  follow  the  nonappearance  of 
the  bride  would  throw  the  populace  and  the 
authorities  into  a  state  of  confusion  that  might 
last  for  hours.  Before  they  could  settle  down 
to  a  systematic  search,  the  bold  operator  would 
be  safely  in  the  last  place  they  would  suspect, 
an  English  lord's  playhouse  in  the  valley  of 
the  Alzette.  Nothing  but  the  most  audacious 
daring  could  hope  to  win  in  such  an  undertak- 
ing. When  Mrs.  Garrison's  coachman  and 
footman  came  forth  in  all  their  august  splen- 
dor on  the  night  of    the  wedding,  they  were 


264  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

pounced  upon  by  three  men,  overpowered, 
bound  and  locked  in  a  small  room  in  the 
stables.  One  of  the  desperadoes  calmly  ap- 
proached the  servants'  quarters,  presented  a 
bold  face  (covered  with  whiskers),  and  said  he 
had  come  for  Miss  Garrison's  trunks.  Almost 
insane  with  the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  the 
servants  not  only  escorted  him  to  the  bride's 
room,  but  assisted  him  in  carrying  two  trunks 
downstairs.  He  was  shrewd  enough  to  ascer- 
tain which  trunk  was  most  needed,  and  it  was 
thrown  into  a  buggy  and  driven  away  by  one 
of  the  trio. 

When  the  carriage  stopped  for  the  first  time 
to  permit  the  masked  man  to  thrust  his  revolver 
into  the  faces  of  the  occupants,  the  trunk  was 
jerked  from  that  same  buggy  and  thrown  to  the 
boot  of  the  larger  vehicle.  Of  course,  having 
absolute  control  of  the  carriage,  it  was  no 
trick,  if  luck  attended,  for  the  new  coachman 
and  footman  to  drive  away  with  the  unsuspect- 
ing bride  and  her  companions.  It  is  only  the 
ridiculously  improbable  projects  that  are  suc- 
cessful, it  has  been  said.  Certainly  it  was 
proven  in  this  case.  It  is  not  necessary  to  tell 
the  full  story,  except  to  say  that  the  masked 
man  who  appeared  at  the  carriage  door  in  the 
little  side  street  was  Quentin;   that  the  foot- 


CASTLE  CRANE YCROW  266 

man  was  Dickey  Savage,  the  driver  Turk.  In 
the  exchange  of  clothing  with  the  deposed 
servants  of  Mrs.  Garrison,  however,  Turk  fell 
into  a  suit  of  livery  big  enough  for  two  men  of 
his  stature. 

The  deserted  house  was  beyond  the  city 
limits,  and  had  been  located  the  day  before  by 
Turk,  whose  joy  in  being  connected  with  such 
a  game  was  boundless.  Other  disguises,  care- 
fully chosen,  helped  them  on  to  the  Grand 
Duchy,  Quentin  as  the  gray-bearded  man,  Sav- 
age as  the  old  woman.  The  suffering  of  Dor- 
othy Garrison  during  that  wild  night  and  day 
was  the  only  thing  that  wrung  blood  from  the 
consciences  of  these  ruthless  dare-devils. 
Philip  Quentin,  it  must  be  said,  lived  years  of 
agony  and  remorse  while  carrying  out  his  part 
of  the  plan.  How  the  plot  was  carried  to  the 
stage  where  it  became  Lady  Saxondale's  duty 
to  acquaint  Dorothy  Garrison  with  the  full  par- 
ticulars, the  reader  knows.  It  only  remains  to 
say  that  good  fortune  favored  the  conspirators 
at  every  turn,  and  that  they  covered  their 
tracks  with  amazing  effectiveness.  Utterly 
cut  off  from  the  eyes  of  the  world,  the  captive 
found  herself  powerless  to  communicate  with 
the  hysterical  people  who  were  seeking  her  in 
every  spot  save  the  right  one. 


266  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Now  that  you  have  finished  this  remark- 
able story  and  have  pleaded  so  prettily  for 
him,  may  I  ask  just  what  Mr.  Quentin 
expects  of  me?"  asked  Dorothy,  cold,  calm, 
and  entirely  the  mistress  of  herself  and  the 
million  emotions  that  Lady  Saxondaie's  dis- 
closures aroused. 

"He  expects  you  to  give  him  your  heart," 
said  her  ladyship,  slowly.  Dorothy  fell  back 
against  the  wall,  aghast,  overcome  by  this 
crowning  piece  of  audacity. 

"Dorothy,  a  week  ago  you  loved  Phil  Quen- 
tin; even  when  you  stepped  inside  the  carriage 
that  was  to  take  you  to  the  altar  you  loved  him 
better " 

"I  did  not!     I  hate  him!"  cried  Dorothy. 

"Perhaps,  now,  but  let  me  ask  you  this 
question:  When  you  were  being  dragged  away 
by  those  three  men,  when  they  were  putting 
miles  and  miles  between  you  and  your  friends, 
of  whom  were  you  thinking?  Ah,  your  face, 
your  eyes  betray  you! — You  were  thinking  of 
Philip  Quentin,  not  of  Ugo  Ravorelli.  You 
were  praying  that  one  strong  arm  might  come 
to  your  relief,  you  knew  but  one  man  in  all  the 
world  who  had  the  courage,  the  love,  the 
power  to  rescue  you.  Last  night,  when  you 
entered    this   dismal    place,   you    wondered    if 


CASTLE  CRANEYCROW  267 

Philip  Quentin — yes,  Philip  Quentin — could 
break  down  the  doors  and  save  you.  And 
then  you  remembered  that  he  could  not  help 
you,  for  you  had  thrown  aside  his  love,  had 
driven  him  away.  Listen!  Don't  deny  it, 
for  I  am  a  woman  and  I  know!  This  morning 
you  looked  from  yon  window  and  your  heart 
sank  with  despair.  Then,  forgetful  again, 
your  eye  swept  the  road  in  the  hope  of  seeing — 
of  seeing,  whom?  But  one  man  was  in  your 
mind,  Dorothy  Garrison,  and  he  was  on  the 
ocean.  When  you  came  into  the  breakfast 
room,  whose  face  was  it  that  sent  the  thrill  to 
your  heart?  Whose  presence  was  it  that  told 
you  your  prayers  had  been  answered?  Whom 
did  you  look  upon  as  your  savior,  your  rescuer? 
That  big  American,  who  loves  you  better  than 
life.  Philip  Quentin  had  saved  you  from  the 
brigands,  and  you  loved  him  for  it.  Now, 
Dorothy  Garrison,  you  hate  him  because  he 
saved  you  from  a  worse  fate — marriage  with 
the  most  dissolute  hypocrite  in  Europe,  the 
most  cunning  of  all  adventurers.  You  are  not 
trying  to  check  the  tears  that  blind  your  eyes; 
but  you  will  not  confess  to  me  that  your  tears 
come  from  a  heart  full  of  belief  in  the  man  who 
loves  you  deeply  enough  to  risk  his  honor  and 
his  life  to  save  you  from  endless  misery      Lie 


268  CA STLE  CRANEYCRO  W 

where  you  are,  on  this  couch,  Dorothy,  and 
just  think  of  it  all — think  of  Phil." 

When  Dorothy  raised  her  wet  eyes  from  the 
cushion  in  which  they  had  been  buried,  Lady 
Saxondale  was  gone. 

Philip  Quentin  stood  in  the  doorway. 


XXIII 

HIS  ONLY  WAY 

In  an  instant  she  was  on  her  feet  and  strug- 
gling to  suppress  the  sobs  that  had  been  wrung 
from  her  by  the  words  of  Lady  Saxondale. 

"Dorothy,"  said  Quentin,  his  voice  tender 
and  pleading,  "you  have  heard  what  Lady 
Saxondale  had  to  say?" 

She  was  now  standing  at  the  window,  her 
back  to  him,  her  figure  straight  and  defiant, 
her  hands  clenched  in  the  desperate  effort  to 
regain  her  composure. 

"Yes,"  she  responded,  hoarsely. 

"I  have  not  come  to  ask  your  pardon  for  my 
action,  but  to  implore  you  to  withhold  judg- 
ment against  the  others.  I  alone  am  to  blame; 
they  are  as  loyal  to  you  as  they  have  been  to 
me.  Whatever  hatred  you  may  have  in  your 
heart,  I  deserve  it.  Spare  the  others  a  single 
reproach,  for  they  were  won  to  my  cause  only 
after  I  had  convinced  them  that  they  were 
serving  you,  not  me.  You  are  with  true 
friends,  the  best  that  man  or  woman  could 
have.  I  have  not  come  to  make  any  appeal 
269 


270  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

for  myself.  There  will  be  time  enough  for 
that  later  on,  when  you  have  come  to  realize 
what  your  deliverance  means." 

She  faced  him,  slowly,  a  steady  calm  in  her 
face,  a  soft  intensity  in  her  voice. 

"You  need  not  hope  that  I  shall  forgive  this 
outrage — ever— as  long  as  I  live.  You  may 
have  had  motives  which  from  your  point  of 
view  were  good  and  justifiable — but  you  must 
not  expect  me  to  agree  with  you.  You  have 
done  something  that  no  love  on  earth  could 
obliterate;  you  have  robbed  my  memory  of  a 
sweet  confidence,  of  the  one  glorious  thing  that 
made  me  look  upon  you  as  the  best  of  men — 
your  nobility.  I  recognize  you  as  the  leader  in 
this  cowardly  conspiracy,  but  what  must  I 
think  of  these  willing  tools  you  plead  for?  Are 
they  entitled  to  my  respect  any  more  than  you? 
I  am  in  your  power.  You  can  and  will  do  with 
me  as  you  like,  but  you  cannot  compel  me  to 
alter  that  over  which  I  have  no  control — my 
reason.  Oh,  how  could  you  do  this  dreadful 
thing,  Phil?"  she  cried,  suddenly  casting  the 
forced  reserve  to  the  winds  and  relapsing  into 
a  very  undignified  appeal.  He  smiled  wearily 
and  met  her  gaze  with  one  in  which  no  irreso- 
lution flickered. 

"It  was  my  only  way,"  he  said,  at  last 


HIS  ONL  Y  WA  V  271 

"The  only  way!"  she  exclaimed.  "There 
was  but  one  way,  and  I  had  commanded  you  to 
take  it.  Do  you  expect  to  justify  yourself  by 
saying  it  was  the  'only  way'?  To  drag  me 
from  my  mother,  to  destroy  every  vestige  of 
confidence  I  had  in  you,  to  make  me  the  most 
talked-of  woman  in  Europe  to-day — was  that 
the  'only  way'?  What  are  they  doing  and  say- 
ing to-day?  Of  what  are  the  newspapers  talk- 
ing under  those  horrid  headlines?  What  are 
the  police,  the  detectives,  the  gossips  doing? 
I  am  the  object  on  which  their  every  thought 
is  centered.  Oh,  it  is  maddening  to  think  of 
what  you,  of  all  people,  have  heaped  upon 
me!" 

She  paced  the  floor  like  one  bereft  of  reason. 
His  heart  smote  him  as  he  saw  the  anguish  he 
had  brought  into  the  soul  of  the  girl  he  loved 
better  than  everything. 

"And  my  poor  mother.  What  of  her?  Have 
you  no  pity,  no  heart?  Don't  you  see  that  it 
will  kill  her?  For  God's  sake,  let  me  go  back 
to  her,  Phil!     Be  merciful!"  she  cried. 

"She  is  safe  and  well,  Dorothy;  I  swear  it  on 
my  soul.  True,  she  suffers,  but  it  is  better  she 
should  suffer  now  and  find  joy  afterward  than 
to  see  you  suffer  for  a  lifetime.  You  would 
not  listen  to  me  when  1  told  you  the  man  you 


272  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

were  to  marry  was  a  scoundrel.  There  was 
but  one  way  to  save  you  from  him  and  from 
yourself;  there  was  but  one  way  to  save  you 
for  myself,  and  I  took  it.  I  could  not  and 
would  not  give  you  up  to  that  villain.  I  love 
you,  Dorothy;  you  cannot  doubt  that,  even 
though  you  hate  me  for  proving  it  to  you. 
Everything  have  1  dared,  to  save  you  and  to 
win  you — to  make  you  gladly  say  some  day 
that  you  love  me." 

Her  eyes  blazed  with  fcorn.  "Love  you? 
After  what  you  have  done?  Oh,  that  I  could 
find  words  to  tell  you  how  I  hate  you!"  She 
stopped  in  front  of  him,  her  white  face  and 
gleaming  eyes  almost  on  a  level  with  his,  and 
he  could  not  but  quail  before  the  bitter  loath- 
ing that  revealed  itself  so  plainly.  Involun- 
tarily his  hand  went  forth  in  supplication,  and 
the  look  in  his  eyes  came  straight  from  the 
depths  into  which  despair  had  cast  him.  If 
she  saw  the  pain  in  his  face  her  outraged  sensi- 
bilities refused  to  recognize  it. 

"Dorothy,    you — you "     he    began,    but 

pulled  himself  together  quickly.  "I  did  not 
come  in  the  hope  of  making  you  look  at  things 
through  my  eyes.  It  is  my  mission  to  acknowl- 
edge as  true,  all  that  Lady  Saxondale  has  told 
you  concerning  my  culpability.     I  alone  am 


HIS  ONLY  WAY  273 

guilty  of  wrong,  and  I  am  accountable.  If  we 
are  found  out,  I  have  planned  carefully  to  pro- 
tect my  friends.  Yet  a  great  deal  rests  with 
you.  When  the  law  comes  to  drag  me  from 
this  place,  its  officers  will  find  me  alone,  with 
you  here  as  my  accuser.  My  friends  will  have 
escaped.  They  are  your  friends  as  well  as 
mine.  You  will  do  them  the  justice  of  accus- 
ing but  me,  for  I  alone  am  the  criminal." 

"You  assume  a  great  deal  when  you  dictate 
what  I  am  to  do  and  to  say,  if  I  have  the  op- 
portunity. They  are  as  guilty  as  you,  and 
without  an  incentive.  Do  you  imagine  that  I 
shall  shield  them?  I  have  no  more  love  for 
them  than  I  have  for  you;  not  half  the  respect, 
for  you,  at  least,  have  been  consistent.  Will 
you  answer  one  question?' 

"Certainly." 

"How  long  do  you  purpose  to  keep  me  in 
this  place?" 

"Until  you,  of  your  own  free  will,  can  utter 
three  simple  words.' 

"And  those  words?" 

"I  love  you." 

"Then,"  she  said,  slowly,  decisively,  "I  am 
doomed  to  remain  here  until  death  releases 
me." 

"Yes;  the  death  of  ambition." 


274  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

She  turned  from  him  with  a  bitter  laugh, 
seating  herself  in  a  chair  near  the  window. 
Looking  up  into  his  face,  she  said,  with  mad- 
dening submission: 

"I  presume  your  daily  visits  are  to  be  a  part 
of  the  torture  I  am  to  endure?" 

His  smile,  as  he  shook  his  head  in  response, 
incensed  her  to  the  point  of  tears,  and  she  was 
vastly  relieved  when  he  turned  abruptly  and 
left  the  apartment.  When  the  maid  came  in 
she  found  Miss  Garrison  asleep  on  the  couch, 
her  cheeks  stained  with  tears.  Tired,  despair- 
ing, angry,  she  had  found  forgetfulness  for  the 
while.  Sleep  sat  lightly  upon  her  troubled 
brain,  however,  for  the  almost  noiseless  move- 
ments of  the  maid  awakened  her  and  she  sat 
up  with  a  start. 

"Oh,  it  is  you!"  she  said,  after  a  moment. 
"What  is  your  name?' 

"Baker,  Miss." 

The  captive  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  couch  and 
for  many  minutes  watched,  through  narrow 
eyes,  the  movements  of  the  servant.  A  plan 
was  growing  in  her  brain,  and  she  was  contem- 
plating the  situation  in  a  new  and  determined 
frame  of  mind. 

"Baker,"  she  said,  finally,  "come  here." 
The     maid     stood     before     her,    attentively. 


HIS  ONLY  WAY  275 

"Would  you  like  to  earn  a  thousand  pounds?" 
Without  the  faintest  show  of  emotion,  the  least 
symptom  of  eagerness,  Baker  answered  in  the 
affirmative  "Then  you  have  but  to  serve  me 
as  I  command,  and  the  money  is  yours." 

"I  have  already  been  instructed  to  serve  you, 
Miss." 

"I  don't  mean  for  you  to  dress  my  hair  and 
to  fasten  my  gown  and  all  that.  Get  me  out  of 
this  place  and  to  my  friends.  That  is  what  I 
mean,"  whispered  Dorothy,  eagerly. 

"You  want  to  buy  me,  Miss?'  said  Baker, 
calmly. 

"Not  that,  quite.  Baker,  but  just 

"You  will  not  think  badly  of  me  if  I  cannot 
listen  to  your  offer.  Miss?  I  am  to  serve  you 
here,  and  I  want  you  to  like  me,  but  I  cannot 
do  what  you  would  ask.  Pardon  me  if  I  speak 
plainly,  but  I  cannot  be  bought."  There  was 
no  mistaking  the  honest  expression  in  the 
maid's  eyes.  "Lady  Saxondale  is  my  mis- 
tress, and  I  love  her.  If  she  asks  me  to  take 
you  to  your  friends,  I  will  obey." 

Dorothy's  lips  parted  and  a  look  of  in- 
credulity grew  in  her  eyes.  For  a  moment  she 
stared  with  unconcealed  wonder  upon  this 
unusual  girl,  and  then  wonder  slowly  changed 
to  admiration. 


276  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"Would  that  all  maids  were  as  loyal,  Baker. 
Lady  Saxondale  trusts  you  and  so  shall  I. 
But,"  wonder  again  manifesting  itself,  "I  can- 
not understand  such  fidelity.     Not  for  ;^5,000?" 

"No,  Miss;  thank  you,"  respectfully  and 
firmly. 

"Ask  Lady  Saxondale  if  I  may  come  to 
her." 

The  maid  departed,  and  soon  returned  to  say 
that  Lady  Saxondale  would  gladly  see  her. 
Dorothy  followed  her  down  the  long,  dark  hall 
and  into  the  boudoir  of  Castle  Craneycrow's 
mistress.  Lady  Jane  sat  on  the  broad  window 
seat,  looking  pensively  out  at  the  blue  sky. 
There  was  in  the  room  such  an  air  of  absolute 
peace  and  security  that  Dorothy's  heart  gave 
a  sharp,  wistful  throb. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,  Dorothy,"  said 
Lady  Saxondale,  approaching  from  the  shad- 
owy side  of  the  room.  Dorothy  turned  to 
see  the  hands  of  her  ladyship  extended  as  if 
calling  her  to  friendly  embrace.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  looked  into  the  clear,  kindly  eyes  of 
the  older  woman,  and  then,  overcome  by  a 
strange,  inexplicable  longing  for  love  and  sym- 
pathy, dropped  her  hands  into  those  which 
were  extended. 

"I've  come  to  beg.  Lady  Saxondale — to  beg 


HIS  ONLY  WAY  277 

you  to  be  kind  to  me,  to  have  pity  for  my 
mother.  I  can  ask  no  more,"  she  said,  sim- 
ply. 

"I  love  you,  dear;  we  all  love  you.  Be  con- 
tent for  a  little  while,  a  little  while,  and  then 
you  will  thank  Heaven  and  thank  us." 

"I  demand  that  you  release  me,"  cried  the 
other.  "You  are  committing  a  crime  against 
all  justice.  Release  me,  and  I  promise  to  for- 
get the  part  you  are  taking  in  this  outrage. 
Trust  me  to  shield  you  and  yours  absolutely." 

"You  ask  me  to  trust  you.  Now,  I  ask  you 
to  trust  me.  Trust  me  to  shield  you  and 
to " 

"You  are  cruel!" 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Lady  Saxondale,  sim- 
ply. She  pressed  the  hands  warmly,  and 
passed  from  the  room.  Dorothy  felt  her  head 
reel,  and  there  was  in  her  heart  the  dread  of 
losing  something  precious,  she  knew  not  what. 

"Come  up  into  the  tower  with  me,  Dorothy," 
said  Lady  Jane,  coming  to  her  side,  her  voice 
soft  and  entreating.  "The  view  is  grand. 
Mr.  Savage  and  I  were  there  early  this  morn- 
ing to  see  the  sun  rise." 

"Are  you  all  against  me?  Even  you,  Lady 
Jane?  Oh,  how  have  I  wronged  you  that  I 
should  be    made  to  suffer  so  at  your  hands? 


278  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

Yes,  yes!  Take  me  to  the  tower!  I  can't  stay- 
here." 

"I  shall  ask  Mr.  Savage  to  go  with  us.  He 
will  hold  you.  It  would  be  too  bad  to  have 
you  try  to  fly  from  up  there,  because  it's  a 
long  way  to  the  crags,  and  you'd  never  fly 
again — in  this  world,  at  least.  I  believe  I'll 
call  Dickey,  to  be  on  the  safe  side." 

There  was  something  so  merry,  so  free  and 
unrestrained  about  her  that  Dorothy  smiled  in 
spite  of  herself.  With  a  new  sensation  in  her 
heart,  she  followed  her  guide  to  the  top  of  the 
broad  stairway.  Here  her  ladyship  paused, 
placed  two  pink  fingers  between  her  teeth,  and 
sent  a  shrill  whistle  sounding  down  between 
the  high  walls. 

"All  right!"  came  a  happy  voice  from 
below.  There  was  a  scramble  of  feet,  two  or 
three  varied  exclamations  in  masculine  tones, 
and  then  Mr.  Savage  came  bounding  up  the 
stairs.  "Playing  chess  with  your  brother  and 
had  to  break  up  the  game.  When  duty  calls, 
you  know.  Morning,  Miss  Garrison.  What's 
up?" 

"We're  just  on  the  point  of  going  up,"  said 
Jane,  sweetly.  "Up  in  the  tower.  Miss  Gar- 
rison wants  to  see  how  far  she  can  fly." 

"About  800  feet,  I  should  say,  Miss  Garri- 


HIS  ONL  Y  WA  Y  279 

son.  It's  quite  a  drop  to  the  rocks  down 
there.  Well,  we're  off  to  the  top  of  Craney- 
crow.     Isn't  that  a  jolly  old  name?" 

"Chick  o'  me,  Chick  o'  me,  Craneycrow, 
Went  to  the  well  to  wash  her  toe. 
When  she  got  back  her  chicken  was  dead — 
Chick  o'  me,  Chick  o'  me,  chop  off  his  head — 
What  time  is  it,  old  witch?" 

"Who  gave  the  castle  such  an  odd,  uncanny 
name?"  asked  Dorothy,  under  the  spell  of  their 
blithesome  spirits. 

"Lady  Jane — the  young  lady  on  your  left, 
an'  may  it  please  you,  Miss,"  said  Dickey. 

"Bob  couldn't  think  of  a  name  for  the  old 
thing,  so  he  commissioned  me.  Isn't  Craney- 
crow delightful?  Crane — that's  a  bird,  you 
know,  and  crow  is  another  bird,  too,  you  know; 
isn't  it  a  joy?  I'm  so  proud  of  it,"  cried  Lady 
Jane,  as  she  scurried  up  the  narrow,  winding 
stone  steps  that  led  to  the  top  of  the  tower. 
Dorothy  followed  more  sedately,  the  new-born 
smile  on  her  lips,  the  excitement  of  a  new 
emotion  surging  over  the  wall  of  anger  she  had 
thrown  up  against  these  people. 

"I  wish  I  could  go  out  and  explore  the  hills 
and  rocks  about  this  place,"  said  Dickey,  wist- 
fully. 


280  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

"Why  can't  you?  Is  it  dangerous?"  queried 
Dorothy. 

"Heavens,  no!  Perfectly  safe  in  that  re- 
spect. Oh,  I  forgot;  you  don't  know,  of 
course.  Phil  Quentin  and  your  devoted  serv- 
ant are  not  permitted  to  show  their  faces  out- 
side these  walls." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  you  see,  we're  in  America.  Don't 
you  understand?  You're  not  the  only  pris- 
oner. Miss  Garrison.  Behold  two  bold,  bad 
bandits  as  your  fellow  captives.  Alas!  that  I 
should  have  come  to  the  cruel  prison  cell!" 

"I  had  not  thought  of  that,"  said  Miss  Gar- 
rison, reflectively,  and  then  she  looked  upon 
Dickey  with  a  new  interest.  They  crawled 
through  the  trap  door  and  out  upon  the  stone- 
paved,  airy  crown  of  the  tower.  She  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  awe  and  shrank  back  from 
the  sky  that  seemed  to  press  down  upon  her. 
Nothing  but  sky — blue  sky!  Then  she  peered 
over  the  low  wall,  down  upon  the  rocks  below, 
ind  shuddered. 

"Hello,  Phil!  Great,  isn't  it?"  exclaimed 
Dickey,  and  Dorothy  realized  that  Quentin  was 
somewhere  behind  her  in  the  little  rock-bound 
circle  among  the  clouds.  A  chill  fell  upon  her 
heart,    and   she    would   not   turn   toward    the 


HIS  ONLY  WAY  281 

man  whose  very  name  brought  rage  to  her 
heart. 

"Magnificent!  I  have  been  up  here  in  the 
sun  and  the  gale  for  half  an  hour.  Here  are 
the  newspapers,  Lady  Jane;  Bob's  man  brought 
them  an  hour  ago.  There  is  something  in 
them  that  will  interest  you,  Dorothy.  Pardon 
me,  but  I  must  go  down.  And  don't  fall  off 
the  tower,  Lady  Jane." 

"Don't  worry,  grandfather;  I'll  be  a  good 
little  girl  and  I  shan't  fall  off  the  tower,  because 
I'm  so  afraid  you'd  find  it  out  and  beat  me  and 
send  me  to  bed  without  my  supper.  Won't 
you  stay  up  just  a  wee  bit  longer?" 

"Now,  don't  coax,  little  girl.  I  must  go 
down." 

"See  you  later,"  Dickey  called  after  him  as 
he  disappeared  through  the  narrow  opening. 
Dorothy  turned  her  stony  face  slightly,  and 
quick,  angry  eyes  looked  for  an  instant  intc  the 
upturned  face  of  the  man  who  was  swallowed 
in  the  darkness  of  the  trap  hole  almost  in  the 
same  second. 

"Don't  fall  off  the  tower,  Lady  Jane,"  came 
the  hollow  voice  from  the  ladders  far  below, 
and,  to  Dorothy's  sensitive  ears,  there  was  the 
most  devilish  mockery  in  the  tones. 

"I  can  forgive  all  of  you — all  of  you,  but — 


282  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

but — never  that  inhuman  wretch!  Oh,  how  I 
hate  him!"  cried  she,  her  face  ablaze,  her  voice 
trembling  with  passion. 

"Oh,  Dorothy!"  cried  Lady  Jane,  softly, 
imploringly. 

"I  wish  from  my  soul,  that  this  tower  might 
tumble  down  and  kill  him  this  instant,  and 
that  his  bones  could  never  be  found!"  wailed 
the  other. 

"There's  an  awful  weight  above  him,  Miss 
Garrison — the  weight  of  your  wrath,"  said 
Dickey,  without  a  smile. 


XXIV 

THE    WHITE  FLAG 

After  returning  to  her  room  later  on,  Dorothy 
eagerly  devoured  the  contents  of  the  news- 
papers, which  were  a  day  or  two  old.  They 
devoted  columns  to  the  great  abduction  mys- 
tery; pictured  the  grief  of  the  mother  and  mar- 
velled at  her  courage  and  fortitude;  traced  the 
brigands  over  divers  streets  to  the  deserted 
house;  gave  interviews  with  the  bride's  fiance, 
her  uncle  and  the  servants  who  were  found  in 
the  stables;  speculated  on  the  designs  of  the 
robbers,  their  whereabouts  and  the  nature  of 
their  next  move;  drew  vivid  and  terrifying  vis- 
ions of  the  lovely  bride  lying  in  some  wretched 
cave,  hovel  or  cellar,  tortured  and  suffering  the 
agony  of  the  damned.  Opinions  of  police 
officers  disclosed  some  astonishing  solutions  to 
the  mystery,  but,  withal,  there  was  a  tone  of 
utter  bewilderment  in  the  situation  as  they 
pictured  it.  She  read  the  long  and  valiant 
declaration  of  Prince  Ugo  Ravorelli,  the  fran- 
tic, broken-hearted  bridegroom,  in  which  he 
283 


284  CA  STLE  CRA NEYCRO  W 

swore  to  rescue  the  fair  one  from  the  dastards, 
"whoever  and  wherever  they  might  be." 
Somehow,  to  her,  his  words,  in  cold  print, 
looked  false,  artificial,  theatrical — anything  but 
brave  and  convincing. 

She  stared  in  amazement  at  the  proclamation 
offering  100,000  francs  for  her  restoration. 
The  general  opinion,  however,  was  that  the 
abductors  might  reasonably  be  expected  to 
submit  a  proposition  to  give  up  their  prize  for 
not  less  than  twice  the  amount.  To  a  man  the 
police  maintained  that  Miss  Garrison  was  con- 
fined somewhere  in  the  city  of  Brussels.  There 
were,  with  the  speculations  and  conjectures,  no 
end  of  biographical  sketches  and  portraits. 
She  found  herself  reading  with  a  sort  of 
amused  interest  the  story  of  how  one  of  the 
maids  had  buckled  her  satin  slippers,  another 
had  dressed  her  hair,  another  had  done  some- 
thing and  another  something  else.  It  was  all 
very  entertaining,  in  spite  of  the  conditions 
that  made  the  stories  possible.  But  what 
amused  her  most  of  all  were  the  wild  guesses 
as  to  her  present  whereabouts.  There  was  a 
direful  unanimity  of  opinion  that  she  was 
groveling  in  her  priceless  wedding-gown  on  the 
floor  of  some  dark,  filthy  cellar.  The  papers 
vividly  painted  her  as  haggard,  faint,  despair- 


THE   WHITE  FLAG  285 

ing  of  succor,  beating  her  breast  and  tearing 
her  beautiful  hair  in  the  confines  of  a  foul- 
smelling  hole  in  the  ground,  crying  for  help  in 
tones  that  would  melt  a  heart  of  stone,  and 
guarded  by  devils  in  the  guise  of  men. 

Then  she  came  to  the  paragraph  which  urged 
the  utmost  punishment  that  law  could  inflict 
upon  the  desperadoes.  The  outraged  populace 
could  be  appeased  with  nothing  save  death  in 
its  most  ignominious,  inglorious  form.  The 
trials  would  be  short,  the  punishment  swift  and 
sure.  The  people  demanded  the  lives  of  the 
villains. 

For  a  long  time  she  sat  with  expressionless 
eyes,  staring  at  the  wall  opposite,  thinking  of 
the  five  persons  who  kept  her  a  prisoner,  think- 
ing of  the  lives  the  people  longed  to  take, 
thinking  of  death.  Death  to  pretty  Lady  Jane, 
to  Lady  Saxondale,  to  Lord  Bob,  to  Dickey 
Savage — the  hunted — and  to  Philip  Quentin, 
the  arch  conspirator!  To  kill  them,  to  butcher 
them,  to  tear  them  to  pieces — that  was  what  it 
meant,  if  they  were  taken  before  the  maddened 
people.  When  Baker  brought  in  the  tea, 
Dorothy  was  shivering  as  one  with  a  chill,  and 
there  was  a  new  terror  in  her  soul.  What  if 
they  were  taken?  Could  she  endure  the 
thought  that  death  was  sure  to  come  to  them, 


286  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

or  to  two  of  ^them,  at  least?  Two  of  the  men? 
Two  Americans? 

During  the  next  three  days  she  refused  to 
leave  her  room,  coldly  declining  the  cordial 
invitations  to  make  one  of  a  very  merry  house 
party,  as  Lady  Jane  called  it.  Her  meals 
were  sent  to  her  room,  and  Baker  was  her  con- 
stant attendant.  Into  her  cheek  came  the  dull 
white  of  loneliness  and  despair,  into  her  eye 
the  fever  of  unrest.  The  visits  met  with  dis- 
dain, and  gradually  they  became  less  frequent. 
On  the  third  day  of  this  self-inflicted  separa- 
tion she  sat  alone  from  early  morn  until  dusk 
without  the  first  sign  of  a  visit  from  either 
Lady  Saxondale  or  Lady  Jane. 

All  day  long  she  had  been  expecting  them, 
and  now  she  was  beginning  to  hunger  for  them. 
A  ridiculous,  inconsistent  irritation  had  been 
building  itself  in  her  heart  since  midday,  and 
at  dusk  it  reached  its  limit  in  unmistakable 
rage.  That  they  might  be  willing  to  ignore 
her  entirely  had  not  entered  her  mind  before. 
Her  heart  was  very  bitter  toward  the  disagree- 
able creatures  who  left  her  alone  all  day  in  a 
stuffy  room,  and  in  a  most  horrid  temper  to 
boot. 

From  below,  at  different  times  during  the 
afternoon,  came  the  happy  laughter  of  men  and 


THE  WHITE  FLAG  28? 

women,  rollicking  songs,  the  banging  of  a 
piano  in  tantalizing  "rag-time"  by  strong  New 
York  fingers,  the  soft  boom  of  a  Chinese  din- 
ner gong  and— oh!  it  was  maddening  to  sit 
away  up  there  and  picture  the  heartless  joy 
that  reigned  below.  When  Baker  left  the 
room,  Dorothy,  like  a  guilty  child,  sneaked — 
actually  sneaked — to  the  hall  door,  opened  it 
softly,  and  listened  with  wrathful  longing  to 
the  signs  of  life  and  good  cheer  that  came  to 
her  ears.  Desolate,  dispirited,  hungry  for  the 
companionship  of  even  thieves  and  robbers, 
she  dragged  herself  to  the  broad  window  and 
looked  darkly  down  upon  the  green  and  gray 
world. 

Her  pride  was' having  a  mighty  battle.  For 
three  long  days  had  she  maintained  a  stubborn 
resistance  to  all  the  allurements  they  could 
offer;  she  had  been  strong  and  steadfast  to  her 
purpose  until  this  hour  came  to  make  her  lone- 
liness almost  unendurable — the  hour  when  she 
saw  they  were  mean  enough  to  pay  her  in  the 
coin  of  her  own  making.  Now  she  was  crying 
for  them  to  come  and  lift  the  pall  of  solitude, 
to  brighten  the  world  for  her,  to  drive  the 
deadly  sickness  out  of  her  heart.  They  had 
ignored  her  for  a  whole  day,  because,  she  was 
reasonable  enough  to  see,  they  felt  she  did  not 


288  CA  STLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

want  them  to  be  near  her.  Would  they  never 
come  to  her  again?  Pride  was  commanding 
her  to  scorn  them  forever,  but  a  lonely  heart 
was  begging  for  fellowship. 

"Baker!"  she  called,  suddenly,  turning  from 
the  window,  her  face  aglow,  her  breath  coming 
fast,  her  heart  bounding  with  a  new  resolu- 
tion— or  the  breaking  of  an  old  one.  Baker 
did  not  respond  at  once,  and  the  now  thor- 
oughly aroused  young  lady  hurried  impatiently 
to  the  bedchamber  in  quest  of  her.  The  maid 
was  seated  in  a  window,  with  ears  as  deaf  as  a 
stone,  reading  the  harrowing  news  from  the 
latest  newspaper  than  had  come  to  Castle 
Craneycrow.  Dorothy  had  read  every  line  of 
the  newest  developments,  and  had  laughed 
scornfully  over  the  absurd  clews  the  police 
were  following.  She  had  been  seen  simul- 
taneously in  Liverpool  and  in  London  and  in 
Paris  and  in  Brussels.  And  by  reputable  wit- 
nesses, too. 

"Baker!" 

"Yes,  Miss,"  and  the  paper  rattled  to  the 
floor,  for  there  was  a  new  tone  in  the  voice  that 
called  to  her. 

"You  may  go  to  Lady  Saxondale  and  say 
that  I  accept  yesterday's  invitation  to  dine 
with  her  and  Lord  Saxondale." 


THE  WHITE  FLAG  289 

"Yesterday's  invitation — you  mean  to-day's, 
Miss "  in  bewildered  tones. 

"I  mean  yesterday's,  Baker.  You  forget 
that  I  have  no  invitation  for  to-day.  Tell  her 
that  Miss  Garrison  will  be  delighted  to  dine 
with  her." 

Baker  flew  out  of  the  room  and  downstairs 
with  the  message,  the  purport  of  which  did  not 
sift  through  her  puzzled  head  until  Lady  Sax- 
ondale  smiled  and  instructed  her  to  inform 
Miss  Garrison  that  she  would  be  charmed  to  have 
her  dine  with  her  both  yesterday  and  to-day. 

In  the  meantime  Dorothy  was  reproaching 
herself  for  her  weakness  in  surrendering.  She 
would  meet  Quentin,  perhaps  be  placed  beside 
him.  While  she  could  not  or  would  not  speak 
to  him,  the  situation  was  sure  to  be  uncom- 
fortable. And  they  would  think  she  was  giv- 
ing in  to  them,  and  he  would  think  she  was 
giving  in  to  him— and— but  anything  was  better 
than  exile. 

While  standing  at  the  window  awaiting  Bak- 
er's return,  her  gaze  fell  upon  a  solitary  figure, 
trudging  along  the  white,  snake-like  road,  far 
down  among  the  foothills— the  figure  of  a 
priest  in  his  long  black  robe.  He  was  the  first 
man  she  had  seen  on  the  road,  and  she  watched 
him  with  curious,  speculative  eyes. 


290  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"A  holy  priest,"  she  was  thinking;  the 
friend  of  all  in  distress.  Why  not  he?  Would 
he,  could  he  help  me?  Oh,  good  father,  if 
you  could  but  hear  me,  if  1  could  but  reach 
your  ears!  How  far  away  he  is,  what  a  little 
speck  he  seems  away  down  there!  Why,  I 
believe  he  is — yes,  he  is  looking  up  at  the 
castle.  Can  he  see  me?  But,  pshaw!  How 
could  he  know  hat  I  am  held  here  against  my 
will?  Even  if  he  sees  my  handkerchief,  how 
can  he  know  that  I  want  him  to  help  me?" 
She  was  waving  her  handkerchief  to  the  lonely 
figure  in  the  road.  To  her  amazement  he 
paused,  apparently  attracted  by  the  signal. 
For  a  brief  instant  he  gazed  upward,  then 
dropped  his  cowled  head  and  moved  slowly 
away.  She  watched  him  until  the  trees  of  the 
valley  hid  his  form  from  view,  and  she  was  alone 
with  the  small  hope  that  he  might  again  some 
day  pass  over  the  lonely  road  and  understand. 

When  the  dinner  gong  rang,  she  was  ready 
to  face  the  party,  but  there  was  a  lively  thump- 
ing in  her  breast  as  she  made  her  way  down  the 
steps.  At  the  bottom  she  was  met  by  Lady 
Saxondale,  and  a  moment  later  Lord  Bob  came 
up,  smiling  and  good-natured.  There  was  a 
sudden  rush  of  warmth  to  her  heart,  the  bub- 
bling over  of  some  queer  emotion,  and  she  was 


THE   WHITE  FLAG  291 

wringing  their  hands  with  a'"gladness  she  could 
not  conceal. 

"I  am  so  lonely  up  there,  Lady  Saxondale," 
she  said,  simply,  unreservedly. 

"Try  to  look  upon  us  as  friends,  Dorothy; 
trust  us,  and  you  will  find  more  happiness  here 
than  you  suspect.  Castle  Craneycrow  was  born 
and  went  to  ruin  in  the  midst  of  feud  and 
strife;  it  has  outlived  its  feudal  days,  so  let 
there  be  no  war  between  us,"  said  her  lady- 
ship, earnestly. 

"If  we  must  live  together  within  its  battered 
walls,  let  us  hoist  a  flag  of  truce,  pick  up  the 
gauntlet  and  tie  up  the  dogs  of  ^war,"  added 
bluff  Lord  Bob. 

Dorothy  smiled,  and  said:  "There  is  one 
here  who  is  not  and  can  never  be  included  in 
our  truce.  I  ask  you  to  protect  me  from  him. 
That  is  the  one  condition  I  impose." 

"You  have  no  enemies  here,  my  dear." 

"But  I  have  a  much  too  zealous  friend." 

"Last  call  for  dinner  in  the  dining-car," 
shouted  Dickey  Savage,  coming  down  the  stairs 
hurriedly.  "I  was  afraid  I'd  be  late.  Glad  to 
see  you.  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  ask  how 
you  enjoyed  that  view  from  the  tower  the 
other  day  "  She  had  given  him  her  hand  and 
he  was  shaking  it  rapturously.  v 


292  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

"It  was  glorious,  and  I  haven't  had  the  op- 
portunity to  ask  if  you  have  explored  the  hills 
and  forest." 

"I'm  afraid  of  snakes  and  other  creeping 
things,"  he  said,  slyly. 

They  had  gone  to  the  dining-room  when 
Quentin  en*;ered.  He  was  paler  than  usual, 
but  he  was  as  calm,  as  easy  and  as  self-pos- 
sessed as  if  he  had  never  known  a  conscience 
in  all  his  life.  She  was  not  looking  at  him 
when  he  bowed  to  her,  but  she  heard  his  clear 
voice  say: 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Dorothy.'' 

He  sat  across  the  table,  beside  Lady  Jane, 
who  was  opposite  Dorothy.  If  he  noticed 
that  she  failed  to  return  his  greeting,  he  was 
not  troubled.  To  his  credit  be  it  said,  how- 
ever, he  did  not  again  address  a  remark  to  her 
during  the  meal.  Within  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  under  the  spell  of  his  presence,  in  such 
close  proximity  to  his  strong,  full-blooded 
body,  she  could  not  but  give  a  part  of  her 
thought  to  this  man  who,  of  all  others,  the 
mob  would  slay  if  they  had  the  chance. 

She  could  not  conceal  from  herself  the  relief 
she  felt  in  mingling  with  friends.  A  willful 
admiration  grew  full  in  the  face  of  resentful 
opposition,  and  there  was  a  reckless  downfall 


THE  WHITE  FLAG  293 

of  dignity.  They  treated  her  without  re- 
straint, talked  as  freely  of  their  affairs  as  if  she 
were  not  there,  boldly  discussed  the  situation 
in  Brussels,  and  laughed  over  the  frantic 
efforts  of  the  authorities.  Helplessly  she  was 
drawn  into  the  conversation,  and,  at  last,  to 
her  dismay,  joined  with  them  in  condolences 
to  the  police. 

"But  some  day  they  will  find  the  right  trail 
and  pounce  upon  you  like  so  many  wild 
beasts,"  she  said,"  soberly.  "'  "What  then? 
You  may  be  laughing  too  soon." 

"It  would  be  hard  luck  to  have  to  break  up 
such  an  awfully  nice  house  party,"  said 
Dickey,  solemnly. 

"And  the  papers  say  they  will  kill  us  with- 
out compunction,"  added  Lady  Jane. 

"It  wouldn't  be  the  first  slaughter  this  old 
house  has  known,"  said  Lord  Bob.  "In  the 
old  days  they  used  to  kill  people  here  as  a 
form  of  amusement." 

"It  might  amuse  some  people  even  in 
our  case,  but  not  for  me,  thanks,"  said 
Quentin.  "They'd  execute  me  first,  how- 
ever, and  I  wouldn't  have  to  endure  the  grief 
of  seeing  the  rest  of  you  tossed  out  of  the 
windows." 

"Do  you  really  believe  they  would  kill  poor 


294  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

little  me?"  demanded  Lady  Jane,  slowly,  her 
eyes  fastened  on  her  brother's  face. 

"Good  Heaven,  no!"  cried  Dorothy,  at  the 
possibility  of  such  a  calamity.  "Why  should 
they  kill  a  helpless  girl  like  you?" 

"But  I  am  one  of  the  wretches  they  are 
hunting  for.  I'm  a  desperado,"  argued  Lady 
Jane. 

"Td  insist  on  their  killing  Lady  Jane  just 
the  same  as  the  r^st  of  us.  It  would  be  all 
wrong  to  discrimina-^:,  even  if  she  is  young 
and — and — well,  far  from  ugly,"  declared 
Dickey,  decidedly. 

"You  might  try  to  save  my  life,  Mr.  Savage; 
it  would  be  the  heroic  thing  to  do,"  she  said. 

"Well  I'll  agree  to  let  'em  kill  me  twice  if  it 
will  do  any  good.  They'd  surely  be  obliging 
if  I  said  it  was  to  please  a  lady.  Couldn't  you 
suggest  something  of  the  kind  to  them,  Miss 
Garrison?  You  know  the  whole  massacre  is  in 
your  honor,  and  I  imagine  you  might  have  a 
good  bit  to  say  about  the  minor  details.  Of 
course,  Lady  Jane  and  I  are  minor  details — 
purely  incidentals." 

"We  are  in  the  chorus,  only,"  added  Lady 
Jane,  humbly. 

"If  you  persist  in  this  talk  about  being 
killed,  I'll  go  upstairs  and  never  come  down 


THE  WHITE  FLAG  295 

again,"    cried   Dorothy,   wretchedly,    and    the 
company  laughed  without  restraint, 

"Dickey,  if  you  say  another  word  that  sounds 
nke  'kill"  I'll  murder  you  myself,"  threatened 
Lord  Bob. 

Lady  Jane  began  whetting  a  silver  table 
knife  on  the  edge  of  her  plate. 

That  evening  Dorothy  did  not  listen  to 
Dickey  Savage's  rag-time  music  from  an  up- 
stairs room.  She  stood,  with  Lady  Jane, 
beside  the  piano  bench  and  fervently  ap- 
plauded, joined  in  the  chorus  and  consoled 
herself  with  the  thought  that  it  was  better  to 
be  a  merry  prisoner  than  a  doleful  one.  She 
played  while  Dickey  and  Jane  danced,  and  she 
laughed  at  the  former's  valiant  efforts  to  teach 
the  English  girl  how  to  "cake  walk." 

Philip  Quentin,  with  his  elbows  on  the 
piano,  moodily  watched  her  hands,  occasion- 
ally relaxing  into  a  smile  when  the  laughter 
became  general.  Not  once  did  he  address 
her,  and  not  once  did  she  look  up  at  him.  At 
last  he  wandered  away,  and  when  next  she  saw 
him  he  was  sitting  in  a  far  corner  of  the  big 
room,  his  eyes  half  closed,  his  head  resting 
comfortably  against  the  high  back  of  the  chair. 
Lord  and  Lady  Saxondale  hovered  about 
the  friendly  piano,  and  there  was  but  one  who 


296  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

looked  the  outcast.  Conditions  had  changed. 
She  was  within  a  circle  of  pleasure,  he  outside. 
She  gloated  in  the  fact  that  he  had  been  driven 
into  temporary  exile,  and  that  he  could  not 
find  a  place  in  the  circle  as  long  as  she  was 
there.  Occasionally  one  or  the  other  of  his 
accomplices  glanced  anxiously  toward  the  quiet 
outsider,  but  no  one  asked  him  to  come  into 
the  fold.  In  the  end,  his  indifference  began 
to  irritate  her.  When  Lady  Saxondale  rang 
for  the  candles  near  the  midnight  hour,  she 
took  her  candlestick  from  the  maid,  with  no 
little  relief,  and  unceremoniously  made  her 
way  toward  the  hall.  She  nervously  uttered  a 
general  good-night  to  the  party  and  flushed 
angrily  when  Quentin's  voice  responded  with 
the  others: 

"Good-night,  Dorothy." 


XXV 

DOWN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS 

"I  cannot  endure  it,"  she  cried  to  herself  a 
dozen  times  before  morning.  "I  shall  go  mad 
if  I  have  to  see  his  face  and  hear  his  voice  and 
feel  that  he  is  looking  at  me.  There  must  be 
a  way  to  escape  from  this  place,  there  must  be 
a  way.  I  will  risk  anything  to  get  away  from 
him!" 

At  breakfast  she  did  not  see  him;  he  had 
eaten  earlier  with  Lord  Bob.  The  others 
noted  the  hunted  look  in  her  eye  and  saw  that 
she  had  passed  a  sleepless  night.  The  most 
stupendous  of  Dickey's  efforts  to  enliven  the 
dreary  table  failed,  and  there  was  utter  col- 
lapse to  the  rosy  hopes  they  had  begun  to 
build.  Her  brain  was  filled  by  one  great 
thought — escape.  While  they  were  jesting  she 
was  wondering  how  and  where  she  could  hnd 
the  underground  passages  of  which  they  had 
spoken  and  to  what  point  they  would  lead. 

"I'd  give  a  round  sum  if  I  could  grow  a  set 
of  whiskers  as  readily  and  as  liberally  as 
Turk,"  commented  Dickey,  sadly.     "He  came 

297 


298  CA  STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

out  of  Phil's  room  this  morning,  and  I  dodged 
behind  a  door  post,  thinking  he  was  a  burglar. 
Turk  looks  like  a  wild  man  from  Borneo,  and 
his  whiskers  are  not  ten  days  out.  He's  let- 
ting 'em  grow  so  that  he  can  venture  outside 
the  castle  without  fear  of  recognition.  I'd  like 
to  get  outside  these  walls  for  half  a  day." 

"I  detest  whiskers,"  decided  Lady  Jane. 

"So  do  I,  especially  Turk's.  But  they're 
vastly  convenient,  just  the  same.  In  a  couple 
of  days  Turk  won't  know  himself  when  he 
looks  in  the  mirror.  I  believe  I'll  try  to  culti- 
vate a  bunch." 

"I'm  sure  they  would  improve  you  very 
much,"  said  Lady  Jane,  aggressively.  "What 
is  your  idea  as  to  color?" 

"Well,  I  rather  fancy  a  nice  amber.  I  can 
get  one  color  as  easily  as  another.  Have  you 
a  preference?" 

"I  think  pink  or  blue  would  become  you, 
Dickey.  But  don't  let  my  prejudices  influence 
you.  Of  course,  it  can't  make  any  difference, 
because  I  won't  recognize  you,  you  know." 

"In  other  words,  if  I  don't  cut  my  whiskers 
you'll  cut  me?" 

"Dead." 

"Lots  of  nice  men  have  whiskers." 

"And  so  do  the  goats." 


DO  WN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS  299 

"But  a  brigand  always  has  a  full  set — in  the 
opera,  at  least." 

"You  are  only  a  brigand's  apprentice,  and, 
besides,  this  isn't  an  opera.  It  is  a  society 
tragedy." 

"Won't  you  have  another  egg?"  he  asked, 
looking  politely  at  her  plate.  Then  he  in- 
quired if  Miss  Garrison  would  like  to  join  him 
in  a  climb  among  the  rocks.  She  smiled  wist- 
fully and  said  she  would  be  charmed  to  do  so 
if  she  were  not  too  feeble  with  age  when  the 
time  came  to  start. 

Consumed  with  a  desire  to  acquaint  herself 
with  her  surroundings,  she  begged  her  com- 
panions to  take  her  over  the  castle  from  turret 
to  cellar.  Later  in  the  day,  with  Turk  carry- 
ing the  lantern,  she  was  eagerly  taking  notes 
in  the  vast,  spooky  caves  of  Craneycrow. 

Vaulted  chambers  here,  narrow  passages 
there,  spider-ridden  ceilings  that  awoke  to  life 
as  the  stooping  visitors  rustled  beneath  them, 
slimy  walls  and  ringing  floors,  all  went  to 
make  up  the  vast  grave  in  which  she  was  to 
bury  all  hope  of  escape.  Immense  were  the 
iron-bound  doors  that  led  from  one  room  to 
another;  huge  the  bolts  and  rusty  the  hinges; 
gruesome  and  icy  the  atmosphere;  narrow  the 
steps  that  led  to  regions  deeper  in  the  bowels 


300  CA  STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

of  the  earth.  Dorothy's  heart  sank  like  lead 
as  she  surveyed  the  impregnable  walls  and 
listened  to  the  mighty  groans  of  long-sleeping 
doors  as  the  shoulder  of  the  sturdy  Turk  awoke 
them  to  torpid  activity.  There  was  surprise 
and  resentment  in  the  creak  of  grim  old 
hinges,  in  the  moans  of  rheumatic  timbers,  in 
the  jangle  of  lazy  chains  and  locks.  The 
stones  on  which  they  trod  seemed  to  snap  back 
in  the  echo  of  their  footfalls  a  harsh,  strident 
laugh  of  derision.  Every  shadow  grinned 
mockingly  at  her;  the  very  darkness  ahead  of 
the  lantern's  way  seemed  to  snort  angrily  at 
the  approach  of  the  intruders.  The  whole  of 
that  rockbound  dungeon  roared  defiance  in 
answer  to  her  timid  prayer,  and  snarled  an  ugly 
challenge  to  her  courage. 

Lady  Saxondale  and  Dickey  confronted  two 
rather  pale-faced  girls  when  the  party  of 
explorers  again  stood  in  the  sunlit  halls  above. 
Across  their  shrinking  faces  cobwebs  were 
lashed,  plastered  with  the  dank  moisture  of 
ages;  in  their  eyes  gleamed  relief  and  from 
their  lips  came  long  breaths  of  thankfulness. 
Turk,  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  was  roundly 
cursing  the  luck  that  had  given  him  such  a  dis- 
agreeable task  as  the  one  just  ended.  From 
the  broad,  warm  windows  in  the  south  drawing- 


DO  WN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS  301 

room,  once  the  great  banquet  hall,  the  quartet 
of  uncomfortable  sight-seekers  looked  out 
upon  the  open  courtyard  that  stretched  down 
to  the  fort-like  wall,  and  for  the  moment  Dor- 
othy envied  Philip  Quentin.  He  was  briskly 
pacing  the  stone-paved  inclosure,  smoking  his 
pipe  and  basking  in  the  sunshine  that  had 
never  penetrated  to  the  horrors  of  Castle 
Craneycrow.  Lord  Bob  was  serenely  lounging 
on  a  broad  oaken  bench,  his  back  to  the  sun, 
reading  from  some  musty-backed  book. 

"Oh,  won't  you  let  me  go  out  in  the  sun  for 
just  a  little  while?"  she  cried,  imploringly.  A 
mist  came  over  Lady  Saxondale's  eyes  and 
Dickey  turned  away  abruptly. 

"As  often  as  you  like,  Dorothy.  The  court- 
yard is  yours  as  much  as  it  is  ours.  Jane,  will 
you  take  her  through  our  fort?  Show  her  the 
walls,  the  parapets,  the  bastions,  and  where  the 
moat  and  drawbridge  were  when  the  place  was 
young.     It  is  very  interesting,  Dorothy." 

With  Dickey  and  Lady  Jane,  Dorothy  passed 
into  the  courtyard  and  into  the  open  air  for 
the  first  time  in  nearly  a  week.  She  felt  like  a 
bird  with  clipped  wings.  The  most  casual 
inspection  convinced  her  that  there  was  no 
possible  chance  of  escape  from  the  walled 
quadrangle,  in  the  center  of  which  loomed  the 


302  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

immense,  weather-painted  castle.  The  wall 
was  high, and  its  strength  was  as  unbroken  as 
in  its  earliest  days.  Lord  Saxondale  joined 
them  and  explained  to  her  all  the  points  of 
interest  about  the  castle  as  viewed  from  the 
outside,  but  Quentin  quietly  abandoned  his 
walk  and  disappeared. 

"It  is  as  difficult  to  get  out  of  Castle  Craney- 
crow  as  it  is  to  get  in,  I  dare  say,"  observed 
Dorothy,  looking  with  awe  upon  the  grim  old 
pile  of  rocks,  they  called  a  castle.  Far  above 
their  heads  stood  the  tower,  from  which  she 
had  seen  earth  and  sky  as  if  in  a  panorama, 
three  days  before. 

"One  might  be  able  to  get  out  if  he  could 
fly.  It  seems  the  only  way,  provided,  of 
course,  there  w^ere  opposition  to  his  depar- 
ture," said  Lord  Bob,  smiling. 

"Alas,  I  cannot  fly,"  she  said,  directly. 

At  the  rear  of  the  castle,  where  the  stone- 
work had  been  battered  down  by  time,  man  and 
the  elements,  she  saw  several  servants  at  work. 
"You  have  trustworthy  servants.  Lord  Saxon- 
dale.    I  have  tried  to  bribe  one  of  them." 

"You  see.  Miss  Garrison,  they  love  Lady 
Frances.  That  is  the  secret  of  their  loyalty. 
The  chances  are  they'd  sell  me  out  to-morrow, 
but  they'd  die  before   they'd   cut   loose  from 


DO  WN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS  303 

my  wife.  By  Jove,  I  don't  understand  how  it 
is  that  everybody  is  won  over  by  you  Ameri- 
can women." 

During  the  trip  through  the  cellars,  Dorothy 
had  learned  that  the  secret  passages  to  the  out- 
side world  began  in  the  big  chamber  under  the 
tower.  Lady  Saxondale  had  unwittingly  con- 
fessed, while  they  were  in  the  room,  that  two 
of  the  big  rocks  in  the  wall  were  false  and  that 
they  were  in  reality  doors  which  opened  into 
the  passages.  One  of  the  passages  was  over  a 
mile  long,  and  there  were  hundreds  of  steps  to 
descend  before  one  reached  a  level  where  walk- 
ing was  not  laborious.  The  point  of  egress  was 
through  a  hidden  cave  up  the  valley,  near  the 
ruins  of  an  old  church.  Where  the  other  pas- 
sage had  once  led  to  she  did  not  know,  for  it 
had  been  closed  by  the  caving  in  of  a  great 
pile  of  rocks. 

With  a  determined  spirit  and  a  quaking 
courage,  Dorothy  vowed  that  she  would  sooner 
or  later  find  this  passage-way  and  make  a  bold 
dash  for  liberty.  Her  nerves  were  tingling 
with  excitement,  eagerness  and  a  horror  of  the 
undertaking,  and  she  could  scarcely  control 
herself  until  the  opportunity  might  come  for  a 
surreptitious  visit  to  the  underground  regions. 
Her  first  thought  was  to  locate,  if  possible,  the 


304  CA STLE  CRANEYCRO  W 

secret  door  leading  into  the  passage.  With 
that  knowledge  in  her  possession  she  could 
begin  the  flight  at  once,  or  await  a  favorable 
hour  on  some  later  day. 

That  very  afternoon  brought  the  opportunity 
for  which  she  was  waiting.  The  other  women 
retired  for  their  naps,  and  the  men  went  to  the 
billiard  room.  The  lower  halls  were  deserted, 
and  she  had  little  difficulty  in  making  her  way 
unseen  to  the  door  that  led  to  the  basement. 
Here  she  paused  irresolutely,  the  recollection 
of  the  dismal,  grasping  solitude  that  dwelt 
beyond  the  portal  sending  again  the  chill  to 
her  bones. 

She  remembered  that  Turk  had  hung  the 
lantern  on  a  peg  just  inside  the  door,  and  she 
had  provided  herself  with  matches.  To  turn 
the  key,  open  the  door,  pass  through  and  close 
it,  required  no  vast  amount  of  courage,  for  it 
would  be  but  an  instant  until  she  could  have  a 
light.  Almost  before  she  knew  what  she  had 
done,  she  was  in  the  drafty,  damp  stairway, 
and  the  heavy  door  was  between  her  and  her 
unsuspecting  captors.  With  trembling,  agi- 
tated fingers  she  struck  a  match.  It  flickered 
and  went  out.  Another  and  another  met  the 
same  fate,  and  she  began  to  despair.  The 
darkness  seemed  to  choke  her,  a  sudden  panic 


DO  WN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS  305 

rushed  up  and  overwhelmed  her  tainting-  cour- 
age, and  with  a  smothered  cry  of  terror  she 
turned  to  throw  open  the  door.  But  the  door 
refused  to  open!  A  modern  spring  lock  had 
set  itself  against  her  return  to  the  coveted 
security  of  the  halls  above. 

A  deathly  faintness  came  over  her.  She 
sobbed  as  she  threw  herself  against  the  stub- 
born door  and  pounded  upon  its  panels  with 
her  hands.  Something  dreadful  seemed  to  be 
crawling  up  from  behind,  out  of  the  cavernous 
hole  that  was  always  night.  The  paroxysms  of 
fear  and  dread  finally  gave  way  to  despair,  and 
despair  is  ever  the  parent  of  pluck.  Impa- 
tiently she  again  undertook  the  task  of  light- 
ing the  lantern,  fearing  to  breathe  lest  she 
destroy  the  wavering,  treacherous  flame  that 
burnt  inside  her  bleeding  hands.  Her  pretty 
knuckles  were  bruised  and  cut  in  the  reckless 
pounding  on  the  door. 

At  last  the  candle  inside  the  lantern's  glass 
began  to  flicker  feebly,  and  then  came  the  cer- 
tainty that  perseverance  had  been  rewarded. 
Light  filled  the  narrow  way,  and  she  looked 
timidly  down  the  rickety  stone  steps,  dreading 
to  venture  into  the  blackness  beyond.  Ahead 
lay  the  possibility  of  escape,  behind  lay  failure 
and   the   certainty  that    no  other  opportunity 


306  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

would  be  afforded  her.  So  she  bravely  went 
down  the  steps,  her  knees  weakly  striking 
against  each  other,  the  lantern  jangling  noisily 
against  the  stone  wall. 

How  she  managed  to  reach  the  chamber 
under  the  tower  she  could  not  have  told  after- 
ward; she  did  not  know  at  the  time.  At  last, 
however,  she  stood,  with  blood  chilled  to  the 
curdling  point,  in  the  center  of  the  room  that 
knew  the  way  to  the  outside  world.  Pounding 
on  the  rocky  walls  with  a  piece  of  stone  against 
which  her  foot  had  struck,  she  at  length  found 
a  block  that  gave  forth  the  hollow  sound  she 
longed  to  hear.  Here,  then,  was  the  key  to 
the  passage,  and  it  only  remained  for  her  to 
discover  the  means  by  which  the  osbtruction 
could  be  moved  from  the  opening. 

For  half  an  hour,  cold  with  fear  and  nerv- 
ousness, she  sought  for  the  traditional  spring, 
but  her  efforts  were  in  vain.  There  was  abso- 
lutely no  solution,  and  it  dawned  upon  her  that 
she  was  doomed  to  return  to  the  upper  world 
defeated.  Indeed,  unless  she  could  make 
those  in  the  castle  hear  her  cries,  it  was  pos- 
sible that  she  might  actually  die  of  starvation 
in  the  pitiless  cavern.  The  lantern  dropped 
from  her  palsied  fingers,  and  she  half  Scxnk 
against  the  stubborn  door  in  the  wall.     Ta  be 


DO  WN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS         307 

back  once  more  in  the  rooms  above,  with 
cheery  human  beings  instead  of  with  the  spirits 
of  she  knew  not  how  many  murdered  men  and 
women,  was  now  her  only  desire,  her  only 
petition. 

The  contact  of  her  body  with  the  slab  in 
some  way  brought  about  the  result  for  which 
she  had  striven.  The  door  moved  slowly  down- 
ward and  a  dash  of  freezing  air  came  from  the 
widening  aperture  at  the  top,  blowing  damp 
across  her  face.  Staggering  away  from  the 
ghostlike  hole  that  seemed  to  grin  fiendisbly 
until  it  spread  itself  into  a  long,  black  r,"ul^ 
with  eyes,  a  voice,  and  clammy  hands,  sh'"- 
grabbed  up  the  still  lighted  lantern  and  c  rie^ 
aloud  in  a  frenzy  of  fear.  The  door  sl'-wly 
sank  out  of  sight  and  the  way  was  open  bnt 
her  courage  was  gone.  What  was  beyond  \h  nt 
black  hole?  Could  she  live  in  the  foul  aii  tbit 
poured  forth  from  that  dismal  mouth?  1  'en- 
bling  like  a  leaf,  she  lifted  the  lantern  and 
peered  into  the  aperture,  standing  quite  <  \(^%t 
to  the  edge. 

Her  eyes  fastened  themselves  in  mute  h'"rror 
upon  the  object  that  first  met  their  gaze;  she 
could  not  breathe,  her  heart  ceased  bea  ing, 
and  every  vestige  of  life  seemed  to  pass  beyond 
recall.     She  was  looking  upon  the  skeletor  of 


308  CASTLE  CRA NE YCRO  W 

*,'  human  being,  crouched,  hunched  against  the 
W6.n  of  the  narrow  passage,  a  headless  skele- 
ton for  the  skull  rolled  out  against  her  feet  as 
the  gliding  door  sank  below  the  level.  Slowly 
she  Lacked  away  from  the  door,  not  knowing 
what  Sine  did,  conscious  only  that  her  eyes  could 
not  be  Q»awn  from  the  horrifying  spectacle. 

"Oh,  G^d!"  she  moaned,  in  direst  terror. 
Her  ghastlj  (companion  seemed  to  edge  him- 
self toward  her,  an  illusion  born  in  the  chang- 
ing position  of  vhe  light  as  she  retreated. 

"Dorothy,"  came  a  voice  behind  her,  and 
she  screamed  aloud  in  terror,  dropping  the  lan- 
tern and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  As 
she  swayed  limply,  a  pair  of  arms  closed  about 
her  and  a  voice  she  knew  so  well  called  her 
name  again  and  again.  She  did  not  swoon, 
but  it  was  an  interminably  long  time  to  him 
before  she  exhibited  the  faintest  sign  of  life 
other  than  the  convulsive  shudders  that  swept 
through  her  body.  At  last  her  hands  clasped 
his  arm  fiercely  and  her  body  stiffened. 

"Is  it  you,  Ph'l?  Oh,  is  it  really  you? 
Take  me  away  from  this  place!  Anywhere, 
anywhere!  I'll  do  anything  you  say,  but  don't 
let  that  awful  thing  come  near  me!"  she 
wailed.  By  the  flickering  light  he  caught  the 
terrified  expression  in  her  eyes. 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS  30& 

"You  are  safe,  dear.  I'll  carry  you  upstairs, 
if  you  like,"  he  said,  softly. 

"I  can  walk,  or  run.  Oh,  why  did  I  come 
here?  But,  Phil,"  suddenly,  "we  are  locked  in 
this  place.     We  can't  get  out!" 

"Oh,  yes,  we  can,"  he  cried,  quickly.  "Come 
with  me."  He  picked  up  the  lantern,  threw 
an  arm  about  her  and  hurried  toward  the  stairs 
that  led  aloft.  Afterwards  he  was  not  ashamed 
to  admit  that  he  imagined  he  felt  bony 
hands  clutching  at  him  from  behind,  and  fear 
lent  speed  to  his  legs.  Up  the  stairs  they 
crowded,  and  he  clutched  at  the  huge  handle 
on  the  door.  In  surprise,  he  threw  his  weight 
against  the  timbers,  and  a  moment  later 
dropped  back  with  an  exclamation  of  dismay. 
The  door  was  locked! 

"What  does  it  mean!"  he  gasped.  "I  left  it 
standing  open  when  I  came  down.  The  draft 
must  have  shut  it.  Don't  be  alarmed,  Dor- 
othy; I'll  kick  the  damned  thing  down.  What 
an  idiot  I  was  to  tell  no  one  that  I  was  coming 
down  here."  But  his  kicking  did  not  budge 
the  door,  and  the  noise  did  not  bring  relief. 
She  held  the  lantern  while  he  fought  with  the 
barricade,  and  she  was  strangely  calm  and 
brave.  The  queer  turn  of  affairs  was  gradually 
making  itself  felt,  and  her  brain  was  clearing 


310  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

quickly.  She  was  not  afraid,  now  that  he  was 
there,  but  a  new  sensation  was  rushing  into  her 
heart.  It  was  the  sensation  of  shame  and 
humiliation.  That  he,  of  all  men,  should  find 
her  in  that  unhappy,  inglorious  plight,  ending 
her  bold  dash  for  freedom  with  the  most 
womanly  of  failures,  was  far  from  comforting, 
to  say  the  least. 

"Dorothy,  I  can't  move  it.  I've  kicked  my 
toes  off,  and  my  knees  are  bleeding,  but  there 
it  stands  like  a  rock.  We've  got  to  stay  here 
till  some  one  chances  to  hear  us,"  he  said, 
ruefully.      "Are  you  afraid  now?" 

"Why  didn't  you  spring  the  lock  when  you 
came  down?  This  is  a  pretty  pass,  I  must 
say,"  she  said,  her  voice  still  shaky,  her  logic 
abnormal. 

"I  like  that!  Were  you  any  better  off  before 
I  came  than  you  are  now?  How  were  you 
going  to  get  out,  may  I  ask?"  he  demanded, 
coolly  seating  himself  on  the  top  step.  She 
stood  leaning  against  the  wooden  door,  the 
diplomatic  lantern  between  them. 

"I  was  going  out  by  another  way,"  she  said, 
shortly,  but  a  shudder  gave  the  lie  to  the 
declaration. 

"Do  you  know  where  that  hidden  passage 
leads    to?"     he    asked,    looking   up     into    her 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS  311 

face.  She  was  brushing  cobwebs  from  her 
dress. 

"To  a  cave  near  the  old  church,"  she  re- 
plied, triumphantly. 

"Blissful  ignorance!"  he  laughed.  "It 
doesn't     lead    anywhere     as    it     now    exists. 

You  see,   there   was    a  cave-in   a  few  decades 

» > 
ago 

"Is  that  the  one  that  caved  in?"  she  cried, 
in  dismay. 

"So  Saxondale  tells  me." 

"And — and  how  did  the — the — how  did  that 
awful  thing  get  in  there?"  she  asked,  a  new 
awe  coming  over  her. 

"Well,  that's  hard  to  tell.  Bob  says  the 
door  has  never  been  opened,  to  his  knowledge. 
Nobody  knows  the  secret  combination,  or 
whatever  you  call  it.  The  chances  are  that  the 
poor  fellow  whose  bones  we  saw  got  locked  in 
there  and  couldn't  get  out.  So  he  died. 
That's  what  might  have  happened  to  you,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  you  brute!  How  can  you  suggest  such 
a  thing?"  she  cried,  and  she  longed  to  sit  close 
beside  him,  even  though  he  was  her  most  de- 
tested enemy. 

"Oh,  I  would  have  saved  you  from  that  fate, 
never  fear." 


312  CA  STLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

"But  you  could  not  have  known  that  I  was 
inside  rhe  passage." 

"Do  yon  suppose  I  came  down  here  on  a 
pleasure  trip?" 

"You  —you  don't  mean  that  you  knew  I  was 
here?" 

"Certainly;  it  is  why  I  came  to  this  blessed 
spot.  It  is  my  duty  to  see  that  no  harm  comes 
to  you,  Dorothy." 

"I  prefer  to  be  called  Miss  Garrison," 
coldly. 

"If  you  had  been  merely  Miss  Garrison  to 
me,  you'd  be  off  on  a  bridal  tour  with  Ravorelli 
at  this  moment,  instead  of  enjoying  a  rather 
unusual  tete-a-tete  with  me.  Seriously,  Dor- 
othy, you  will  be  wise  if  you  submit  to  the 
inevitable  until  fate  brings  a  change  of  its  own 
accord.  You  are  brave  and  determined,  I 
know,  and  I  love  you  more  than  ever  for  this 
daring  attempt  to  get  out  of  Craneycrow,  but 
you  don't  know  what  it  might  have  brought 
you  to.  Good  heavens,  no  one  knows  what 
dangers  lie  in  those  awful  passages.  They 
have  not  been  used  in  a  hundred  years.  Think 
of  what  you  were  risking.  Don't,  for  your  own 
sake,  try  anything  so  uncertain  again.  I  knew 
you  were  down  here,  but  no  one  else  knows. 
How  you  opened  that  secret  door,  I  do  not 


DOWN  AMONG  THE  GHOSTS         3la 

know,  but  we  both  know  what  happened  to  one 
other  poor  wretch  who  solved  the  mystery." 
•  "I  didn't  solve  it,  really  I  didn't.  I  don't 
know  how  it  happened.  It  just  opened,  that's 
all,  and  then  I — oh,  it  was  terrible!"  She  cov- 
ered her  eyes  with  her  hands  and  he  leaped  to 
his  feet. 

"Don't  think  about  it,  Dorothy.  It  was 
enough  to  frighten  you  to  death.  Gad,  I 
should  have  gone  mad  had  I  been  in  your 
place."  He  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulder, 
and  for  a  moment  she  offered  no  resistance. 
Then  she  remembered  who  and  what  he  was 
and  imperiously  lifted  angry  eyes  to  hh. 

"The  skeleton  may  have  been  a  gentleman 
in  his  day,  Mr.  Quentin.  Even  now,  as  I 
think  of  him  in  horror,  he  could  not  be  as  de- 
testable as  you.  Open  this  door,  sir!"  she 
said,  her  voice  quivering  with  indignation. 

"I  wish  I  could — Dorothy,  you  don't  believe 
that  I  have  the  power  to  open  this  door  and  am 
blackguard  enough  to  keep  you  here?  My 
(jod,  what  do  you  think  I  am?"  he  cried,  draw- 
ing away  from  her. 

"Open  this  door!"  she  commanded,  reso- 
lutely. He  looked  long  and  earnestly  in*o  her 
unflinching  eyes,  and  his  heart  chilled  aa  If  ice 
had  clogged  the  blood. 


314  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

"I  cannot  open  it,"  he  said  at  last.  With 
not  another  word  he  sat  down  again  at  her 
feet,  and,  for  what  seemed  like  an  age,  neither 
spoke.  The  lantern  sputtered  warningly,  but 
they  did  not  know  the  light  of  its  life  was  ebb- 
ing away.  They  breathed  and  thought,  and 
that  was  all.  At  length  the  chill  air  began  to 
tell,  and  he  plainly  heard  the  chatter  of  her 
teeth,  the  rustling  of  her  dress  as  her  body 
shivered.  He  arose,  stiff  ar.d  cold,  drew  off 
his  coat  and  threw  it  about  her  shoulders.  She 
resisted  at  first,  but  he  was  master.  Later  his 
waistcoat  was  wrapped  about  her  throat  and  the 
warm  lantern  was  placed  at  her  feet,  but  she 
never  gave  him  one  look  of  gratitude. 

At  intervals  he  pounded  on  the  door  until 
finally  there  came  the  joyous,  rasping  sound 
of  a  key  in  the  lock,  and  then  excited  excla- 
mations filled  the  ears  of  the  two  prisoners. 


XXVI 

''THE  KING  OF  EVILDOERS' 

"Turk  has  been  in  Brussels,'  said  Quentin 
to  her  on  the  day  following  her  underground 
adventure.  She  was  walking  in  the  courtyard, 
and  her  brain  was  busy  with  a  new  interest. 
Again  had  the  lonely  priest  passed  along  the 
road  far  below,  and  she  had  made  him  under- 
stand that  he  was  wanted  at  the  castle  gates. 
When  he  turned  off  the  road  and  began  slowly 
to  climb  the  steep,  she  was  almost  suffocated 
with  nervous  excitement.  Her  experience  of 
the  day  before  had  left  her  unstrung  and  on  the 
verge  of  collapse,  and  she  was  beginning  to 
enjoy  a  strange  resignation. 

She  was  beginning  to  feel  that  there  were 
terrors  worse  than  those  of  the  kindly  prison, 
and  that  escape  might  be  tenfold  more  un- 
pleasant than  confinement.  Then  she  saw  the 
priest,  and  her  half-hearted  attempt  to  attract 
his  attention  to  her  plight  resulted  so  differ- 
ently from  what  she  had  expected  that  her 
nerves  were  again  leaping  with  the  old  desire 

315 


816  CASTLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

to  outwit  her  captors.  He  was  coming  to  the 
castle,  but  how  was  she  to  acquaint  him  with 
the  true  state  of  affairs?  She  would  not  be 
permitted  to  see  him,  much  less  to  talk  with 
him;  of  that  she  was  sure.  Not  knowing  what 
else  to  do,  she  went  into  the  courtyard  and 
loitered  near  the  big  gates,  trying  to  appear  at 
ease.  She  prayed  for  but  a  few  moments'  time 
in  which  to  cry  out  to  him  that  she  was  a  pris- 
oner and  the  woman  for  whom  100,000  francs 
were  offered  in  Brussels. 

But  now  comes  Ouentin  upon  the  scene. 
His  voice  was  hoarse,  and  it  was  plain  that  he 
had  taken  a  heavy  cold  in  the  damp  cellar. 
She  deliberately  turned  her  back  upon  him,  not 
so  much  in  disdain  as  to  hide  the  telltale  con- 
fusion in  her  face.  All  hope  of  conversing 
with  the  priest  was  lost  if  Quentin  remained 
near  by. 

"I  sent  him  to  Brussels,  Dorothy,  and  he  has 
learned  something  that  will  be  of  vital  interest 
to  you,"  Philip  went  on,  idly  leaning  against  the 
gate  as  if  fate  itself  had  sent  him  there  to  frus- 
trate her  designs. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  now,  Philip.  You  must 
give  me  time.  In  an  hciir,  when  I  have  got- 
ten over  this  dreadful  headache,  I  will  listen  to 
you.     But  now,  for  heaven's  sake,  leave  me  to 


''THE  KING  OF  E  VIL-DOERS"         317 

myself,"  she  said,  rapidly,  resorting  to  decep- 
tion. 

"I'm  sorry  I  have  disturbed  you.  In  an 
hour,  then,  or  at  any  time  you  may  feel  like 
listening.     It  concerns  Prince  Ugo." 

"Is  he — what  has  happened  to  him?"  she 
demanded,  turning  to  him  with  alarm  in  her 
eyes. 

"It  is  not  what  has  happened  to  him,  but  to 
one  who  was  his  intimate.  The  woman  who 
warned  me  to  beware  of  his  treachery  has  been 
murdered  in  Brussels.  Shall  I  come  to  you 
here  in  an  hour?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  the  consciousness 
of  a  new  dread  showing  itself  in  her  voice.  It 
was  not  until  he  reentered  the  house  that  she 
became  fully  possessed  of  a  desire  to  learn 
more  of  this  startling  news.  Her  mind  went 
back  to  the  strange  young  woman  who  came  to 
her  with  the  story  of  the  prince's  duplicity,  and 
her  blood  grew  cold  with  the  thought  that 
brutal  death  had  come  to  her  so  soon  after  that 
visit.  She  recalled  the  woman's  voice,  her 
unquestioned  refinement,  her  dignity  of  bear- 
ing and  the  positiveness  with  which  she  de- 
clared that  Ugo  would  kill  her  if  he  knew  the 
nature  of  her  visit  to  his  promised  wife.  And 
now    she   was    dead — murdered!      By  whom? 


318  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

That  question  burst  upon  her  with  the  force  of 
a  heavy  blow.     Who  killed  her? 

A  pounding  on  the  heavy  gate  brought  her 
sharply  to  the  project  of  the  moment.  She 
walked  as  calmly  as  her  nerves  would  admit 
to  the  gate  and  called  in  French: 

"Who  is  there?" 

"Father  Paul,"  came  a  subdued  voice  from 
the  outside.  "Am  I  wrong  in  believing  that  I 
was  called  here  by  some  one  in  the  castle? 
Kindly  admit  me.     I  am  fatigued  and  athirst." 

"I  cannot  open  the  gate,  good  Father.  You 
must  aid  me  to  escape  from  this  place,"  she 
cried,  eagerly,  her  breast  thumping  like  a  ham- 
mer. There  was  no  interruption,  and  she  could 
have  shrieked  with  triumph  when,  five  minutes 
later,  the  priest  bade  her  be  of  good  cheer  and 
to  have  confidence  in  him.  He  would  come 
for  her  on  the  next  night  but  one,  and  she 
should  be  freed.  From  her  window  in  the 
castle  she  saw  the  holy  man  descend  the  steep 
with  celerity  not  born  of  fatigue.  When  he 
reached  the  road  below  he  turned  and  waved 
his  hand  to  her  and  then  made  his  way  swiftly 
into  the  forest. 

After  it  was  all  over  and  relief  was  promised, 
her  excitement  subsided  and  in  its  place  began 
to   grow   a   dull    contemplation    of    what   her 


"  THE  KING  OF  E  V I L- DOERS' '         319 

rescue  would  mean  to  the  people  who  were 
holding  her  captive.  It  meant  exposure, 
arrest,  imprisonment  and  perhaps  death.  The 
appeal  she  had  succeeded  in  getting  to  the  ears 
of  the  passing  priest  would  soon  be  public 
property,  and  another  day  might  see  the  jubi- 
lant minions  of  the  law  in  front  of  Castle 
Craneycrow  demanding  her  release  and  the 
surrender  of  the  culprits.  There  was  not  the 
joy  in  her  heart  that  she  had  expected;  instead 
there  was  a  sickening  fancy  that  she  had  done 
something  mean  and  treacherous.  When  she 
rejoined  the  unsuspecting  party  downstairs 
soon  afterward,  a  mighty  weakness  assailed 
her,  and  it  was  she,  instead  of  they  who  had 
boldly  stolen  her  from  her  home,  that  felt  the 
pangs  of  guilt.  She  went  into  the  courtyard 
where  Savage  and  Lady  Jane  were  playing 
handball,  while  the  Saxondales  looked  on, 
happily  unconscious  of  a  traitor  in  their 
midst.  For  an  instant,  pale  and  remorseful, 
she  leaned  against  the  door-post,  struggling  to 
suppress  the  tears  of  pity  and  contrition. 
Before  she  had  fully  recovered  her  strength 
Lady  Jane  was  drawing  her  into  the  contest 
with  Dickey.  And  so  she  played  cravenly  with 
those  whose  merry  hearts  she  was  to  crush, 
listening  to  the  plaudits  of  the  two  smiling  on- 


320  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

lookers.  It  was  too  late  to  save  them,  for  a 
priest  of  God  had  gone  out  into  the  world  to 
herald  their  guilt  and  to  deal  a  blow  that  would 
shatter  everything. 

Quentin  came  down  a  little  later,  and  she 
was  conscious  that  he  watched  the  game  with 
eyes  in  whicli  pleasure  and  trouble  fought  for 
supremacy.  Tired  at  last  of  the  violent  exer- 
cise, the  trio  threw  themselves  upon  the  bench 
in  the  shade  of  the  wall,  and,  with  glowing 
faces  and  thumping  breasts,  two  of  them 
laughed  over  the  antics  they  had  cut.  Dor- 
othy's lawless  lover  stood  afar  off,  lonely  and 
with  the  resignation  of  the  despised.  Pres- 
ently he  drew  near  and  asked  if  he  might  join 
them  in  the  shade. 

"What  a  dreadful  cold  you  have  taken, 
Phil,"  cried  Lady  Sa.xondale,  anxiously. 

"Commonest  sort  of  a  cold,  I  assure  you. 
Damp  cellars  don't  agree  with  me,"  he  said. 

"I  did  not  want  your  coat,  but  you  would 
give  it  to  me,"  said  Dorothy,  as  if  called  upon 
to  defend  herself  for  some  crime. 

"It  was  you  or  I  for  the  cold,  you  know," 
he  said,  simply,  "and  I  was  your  protector." 

"Right  and  good,"  agreed  Dickey.  "Couldn't 
do  anything  else.  Lady  needed  a  coat,  had  to 
have  it,  and  she  got  it.     Duty  called  and  found 


"THE  KING  OF  THE  EVIL-DOERS''     321 

him  prepared.  That's  why  he  always  wears  2 
coat  in  the  presence  of  ladies." 

"I've  had  your  friend,  the  skeleton,  buried,*' 
said  Lord  Bob.  "Poor  chap,  he  seemed  all 
broken  up  over  leaving  the  place." 

"Yes — went  all  to  pieces,"  added  Dickey. 

"Dickey  Savage,  do  you  think  you  are  funny?" 
demanded  Lady  Jane,  loftily.  "I  would  not 
jest  about  the  dead." 

"The  last  I  saw  of  him  he  was  grinning 
like  the " 

"Oh,  you  wretch!"  cried  the  girl,  and  Dor- 
othy put  her  fingers  to  her  ears. 

"Shut  up,  Dickey,"  exclaimed  Quentin. 
"Do  you  care  to  hear  about  that  woman  in 
Brussels,  Dorothy?" 

"It  is  of  no  great  consequence  to  me,  but 
I'll  listen  if  you  like,"  she  said,  slowly. 

Thereupon  he  related  to  the  party  the  stor* 
of  the  finding  of  the  dead  woman  in  a  house 
near  the  Garrison  home  in  the  Avenue  Louise. 
She  had  been  dead  for  two  days  and  her  throat 
was  cut.  The  house  in  which  she  was  found 
was  the  one  into  which  Turk  had  seen  Courant 
disappear  on  the  night  of  the  veranda  incident 
at  the  Garrison's.  Turk  had  been  sent  to  Brus- 
sels by  Quentin  on  a  mission  of  considerable 
importance,  arriving  there  soon  after  the  body 


322  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

was  discovered.  He  saw  the  woman's  face  at 
the  morgue  and  recognized  her  as  the  one  who 
had  approached  Ouentin  in  the  train  for  Paris. 
Turk  learned  that  the  police,  to  all  appear- 
ances had  found  a  clew,  but  had  suddenly 
dropped  the  whole  matter  and  the  woman  was 
classified  with  the  "unknown  dead."  An 
attendant  at  the  morgue  carelessly  remarked 
in  his  hearing  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  a 
great  man,  who  had  sent  them  word  to  "throw 
her  in  the  river."  Secretly  Turk  assured  him- 
self that  there  v/as  no  mistake  as  to  the  house 
in  which  she  had  been  found,  and  by  putting 
two  and  two  together,  it  was  not  unnatural  to 
agree  with  the  morgue  officer  and  to  supply 
for  his  own  benefit  the  name  of  the  royal 
lover.  The  newspapers  which  Turk  brought 
from  Brussels  to  Cast!^  Craneycrow  contained 
accounts  of  the  murder  of  the  beautiful  woman, 
speculated  wildly  as  to  her  idenity  and  termed 
the  transaction  a  mystery  as  unsolvable  as  the 
great  abduction.  The  same  papers  had  the 
report,  on  good  authority,  that  Miss  Garrison 
had  been  murdered  by  her  captors  in  a  small 
town  in  Spain,  the  authorities  being  so  hot  on 
the  trail  that  she  was  put  out  of  the  way  for 
safety's  sake. 

But  the  papers  did  not  know  that  a  bearded 


"THE  KING  OF  THE  EVIL-DOERS''    323 

man  named  Turk  had  slipped  a  sealed  envelope 
under  a  door  at  the  Garrison  home,  and  that  a 
distressed  mother  had  assurance  from  the  bri- 
gand chief  that  her  daughter  was  alive  and 
well,  but  where  she  could  not  be  found.  To 
prove  that  the  letter  was  no  imposition,  it  was 
accompanied  by  a  lock  of  hair  from  Dorothy's 
head,  two  or  three  bits  of  jewelry  and  a  lace 
handkerchief  that  could  not  have  belonged  to 
another.  Dotothy  did  not  know  how  or  when 
Baker  secured  these  bits  of  evidence.  When 
Quentin  told  her  the  chief  object  of  Turk's 
perilous  visit  to  Brussels,  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  and  for  the  first  time  she  felt  grateful  to 
him. 

"I  have  a  confession  to  make,"  she  said, 
after  the  story  was  finished  and  the  others  had 
deliberately  charged  Ugo  with  the  crime, 
"That  poor  woman  came  to  me  in  Brussels  and 
implored  me  to  give  up  the  prince.  She  told 
me,  Phil,  that  she  loved  him  and  warned  me  to 
beware  of  him.  And  she  said  that  he  would 
kill  her  if  he  knew  that  she  had  come  to  me." 

"That  settles  it!"  exclaimed  he,  excitedly, 
the  fever  of  joy  in  his  eyes,  "He  killed  her 
when  he  found  that  she  had  been  to  you.  Per- 
haps, goaded  to  desperation,  she  confessed  to 
him.     Imagine  the  devilish  delight  he  took  in 


324  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

sniffing  out  her  life  after  that!  We  have  him 
now!  Dorothy,  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  he 
and  he  alone  had  an  object  in  killing  her. 
You  have  only  to  tell  the  story  of  her  visit  to 
you  and  we'll  hang  the  miserable  coward." 
He  was  standing  before  her,  eager-eyed  and 
intense. 

"You  forget  that  I  am  not  and  do  not  for 
some  time  expect  to  be  in  a  position  to  expose 
him.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  law 
will  first  require  me  to  testify  against  you, 
Philip  Quentin,"  she  said,  looking  fairly  into 
his  eyes,  the  old  resentment  returning  like  a 
flash.  Afterward  she  knew  that  the  look  of 
pain  in  his  face  touched  her  heart,  but  she  did 
not  know  it  then.  She  saw  the  beaten  joy  go 
out  of  his  eyes,  and  she  rejoiced  in  the  victory. 

"True,"  he  said,  softly.  "I  have  saved  the 
woman  I  love,  while  he  has  merely  killed  one 
who  loved  him."  It  angered  her  unreasonably 
when,  as  he  turned  to  enter  the  house.  Lady 
Saxondale  put  her  arm  through  his  and  whis- 
pered something  in  his  ear.  A  moment  or  two 
later  Lady  Jane,  as  if  unable  to  master  the 
emotion  which  impelled,  hurried  into  the  castle 
after  them.  Dickey  strolled  away,  and  she  was 
left  with  Lord  Bob.  It  would  have  been  a 
relief  had  he  expressed  the  slightest  sign  of 


"THE  KING  OF  THE  EVIL-DOERS"    32£ 

surprise  or  regret,  but  he  was  as  imperturbable 
as  the  wall  against  which  he  leaned.  His 
mild  blue  eyes  gazed  carelessly  at  the  coils  of 
smoke  that  blew  from  his  lips. 

"Oh,"  she  wailed  to  herself,  in  the  im- 
potence of  anger,  "they  all  love  him,  they  all 
hate  me!  Why  does  he  not  mistreat  me,  insult 
me,  taunt  me — anything  that  will  cost  him 
their  respect,  their  devotion!  How  bitterly 
they  feel  toward  me  for  that  remark!  It  will 
kill  me  to  stay  here  and  see  them  turn  to  him 
as  if  he  were  some  god  and  I  the  defiler!" 

That  night  there  was  a  battle  between  the 
desire  to  escape  and  the  reluctance  she  felt  in 
exposing  her  captors  to  danger.  In  the  end 
she  admitted  to  herself  that  she  would  not  have 
Philip  Quentin  seized  by  the  officers:  she 
would  give  them  all  an  equal  chance  to 
escape,  he  with  the  others.  Her  heart  soft- 
ened when  she  saw  him,  in  her  imagination, 
alone  and  beaten,  in  the  hands  of  the  police, 
led  away  to  ignominy  and  death,  the  others 
perhaps  safe  through  his  loyalty.  She  would 
refuse  absolutely,  irrevocably,  to  divulge  the 
names  of  her  captors  and  would  go  so  far  as  to 
perjure  herself  to  save  them  if  need  be.  With 
that  charitable  resolution  in  her  heart  she  went 
to  sleep. 


326  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

When  she  arose  the  next  morning,  Baker 
told  her  that  Mr.  Quentin  was  ill.  His  cold 
had  settled  on  his  lungs  and  he  had  a  fever. 
Lady  Saxondale  seemed  worried  over  the 
rather  lugubrious  report  from  Dickey  Savage, 
who  came  downstairs  early  with  Phil's  apolo- 
gies for  not  presenting  himself  at  the  breakfast 
table. 

While  Quentin  cheerfully  declared  that  he 
would  be  himself  before  night,  Dickey  was  in  a 
doleful  state  of  mind  and  ventured  the  opinion 
that  he  was  "in  for  a  rough  spell  of  sickness." 
What  distresed  the  Saxondales  most  was  the 
dismal  certainty  that  a  doctor  could  not  be 
called  to  the  castle.  If  Quentin  were  to  be- 
come seriously  ill,  the  situation  would  develop 
into  something  extremely  embarrassing. 

He  insisted  on  coming  downstairs  about 
noon,  and  laughed  at  the  remonstrances  of 
Lord  Bob  and  Dickey,  who  urged  him  to  remain 
in  bed  for  a  day  or  two,  at  least.  His  cough 
was  a  cruel  one,  and  his  eyes  were  bright  with 
the  fever  that  raced  through  his  system.  The 
medicine  chest  offered  its  quinine  and  its 
plasters  for  his  benefit,  and  there  was  in  the 
air  the  tense  anxiety  that  is  felt  when  a  child 
is  ill  and  the  outcome  is  in  doubt.  The 
friends  of  this  strong,  stubborn  and  all-impor- 


' '  THE  KING  OF  THE  E  VIL- DOERS  "     327 

tant  sick  man  could  not  conceal  the  fact  that 
they  were  nervous  and  that  they  dreaded  the 
probability  of  disaster  in  the  shape  of  serious 
illness.  His  croaking  laugh,  his  tearing  cough 
and  that  flushed  face  caused  Dorothy  more 
pain  than  she  was  willing  to  admit,  even  to 
herself. 

As  night  drew  near  she  quivered  with  excite- 
ment. Was  she  to  leave  the  castle?  Would 
the  priest  come  for  her?  Above  all,  would  he 
be  accompanied  by  a  force  of  ofificers  large 
enough  to  storm  the  castle  and  overpower  its 
inmates?  What  would  the  night  bring  forth? 
And  what  would  be  the  stand,  the  course, 
taken  by  this  defiant  sick  man,  this  man  with 
two  fevers  in  his  blood? 

She  had  not  seen  or  spoken  to  him  during 
the  day,  but  she  had  frequently  passed  by  the 
door  of  the  library  in  which  he  sat  and  talked 
with  the  other  men.  An  irresistible  longing 
to  speak  to  him,  to  tell  him  how  much  she 
regretted  his  illness,  came  over  her.  There 
was  in  her  heart  a  strange  tenderness,  a  hungry 
desire  to  comfort  him  just  the  least  bit  before 
she  took  the  flight  that  was  to  destroy  the  hope 
his  daring  and  skillfully  executed  scheme  had 
inspired. 

Three  times   she  hesitated   in    front  of   the 


328  CASTLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

library  door,  but  her  courage  was  not  as  strong 
as  her  desire.  Were  he  alone  she  could  have 
gone  in  and  told  him  frankly  that  she  would 
not  expose  him  to  the  law  in  the  event  that 
she  ever  had  the  opportunity.  But  the  other 
men  were  with  him.  Besides,  his  cough  was 
so  distressing  that  natural  pity  for  one  suffer- 
ing physical  pain  would  have  made  it  impos- 
sible to  talk  to  him  with  the  essential  show  of 
indifference. 

At  last,  in  despair,  she  left  Lady  Saxondale 
and  her  companion  in  the  courtyard  and  started 
up  the  stairs,  resolved  to  be  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  sound  of  that  cough.  Quentin  met 
her  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"I'm  going  to  lie  down  awhile,"  he  said, 
wearily.  "They  seem  to  be  worried  about  this 
confounded  cold,  and  I'll  satisfy  them  by 
packing  myself  away  in  bed." 

"You  should  be  very  careful,  Phil,"  she  said, 
a  suffocating  feeling  in  her  throat.  "Your 
cough  is  frightful,  and  they  say  you  have  a 
fever.     Do  be  reasonable." 

"Dorothy,"  he  said,  pausing  before  her  at 
the  steps,  his  voice  full  of  entreaty,  "tell  me 
you  don't  despise  me.  Oh!  I  long  to  have  you 
say  one  tender  word  to  me,  to  have  one  gentle 
look  from  your  eyes." 


"THE  KING  OF  THE  EVIL-DOERS"    329 

"I  am  very  sorry  you  are  suffering,  Philip," 
she  said,  steeling  her  heart  against  the  weak- 
ness that  threatened. 

"Won't   you   believe   I   have    done  all    this 

because  J  love  you  and "   he  was  saying, 

passionately,  but  she  interposed. 

"Don't!  Don't,  Phil!  I  was  forgetting  a 
little — yes,  I  was  forgetting  a  little,  but  you 
bring  back  all  the  ugly  thoughts.  I  cannot 
forget  and  I  will  not  forgive.  You  love  me,  I 
know,  and  you  have  been  a  kind  jailer, 
but  you  must  not  expect  to  regain  my 
respect  and  love — yes,  it  was  love  up  to 
the  morning  I  saw  you  in  the  dining-room 
of  this  castle." 

"I'll  create  a  new  love  in  your  heart,  Dor- 
othy," he  cried.  "The  old  love  may  be  dead, 
but  a  new  one  shall  grow  up  in  its  place.  You 
do  not  feel  toward  me  to-day  as  you  did  a 
week  ago.  I  have  made  some  headway  against 
the  force  of  your  hatred.  It  will  take  time  to 
win  completely;  I  would  not  have  you  succumb 
too  soon.  But,  just  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God, 
you  will  love  me  some  day  for  the  love  that 
made  me  a  criminal  in  the  eyes  of  the  v/orld. 
I  love  you,  Dorothy;  I  love  you!" 

"It  is  too  late.  You  have  destroyed  the 
power  to  love.     Phil,    I   cannot  forgive   you. 


330  CA  STLE  CRANEYCRO  W 

Could  I  love  you  unless  full  forgiveness  paved 
the  way?" 

"There  Is  nothing  to  forgive,  as  you  will 
some  day  confess.  You  will  thank  and  forgive 
me  for  what  I  have  done."  A  fit  of  cougl  ing 
caused  him  to  lean  against  the  stair  rail  a 
paroxysm  of  pain  crossing  his  face  as  he 
sought  to  temper  the  violence  of  the  spell. 

"You  should  have  a  doctor,"  she  cried,  in 
alarm.     He  smiled  cheerlessly. 

"Send  for  the  court  physician,"  he  said, 
derisively.  "The  king  of  evil-doers  has  the 
chills  and  fever,  they  say.  Is  my  face  hot, 
Dorothy?" 

She  hesitatea  for  a  moment,  then  impulsively 
placed  her  cool  hand  against  his  flushed  fore- 
head. Despite  her  will,  there  was  a  caress  in 
the  simple  act,  and  his  bright  eyes  gleamed 
with  gladness.  His  hand  met  hers  as  it  was 
lowered  from  the  hot  brow,  and  his  lips 
touched  the  fingers  softly, 

"Ah,  the  fever,  the  fever!"  he  exclaimed, 
passionately. 

"You  should  have  a  doctor,"  she  muttered, 
as  if  powerless  to  frame  other  wo.ds. 


XXVII 

THE  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  PRIES! 

Eleven  o'clock  that  night  found  Castle 
Craneycrow  wrapped  in  the  stillness  of  death. 
Its  inmates  were  awake,  but  they  were  petri- 
fied, paralyzed  by  the  discovery  that  Dorothy 
Garrison  was  gone.  Scared  eyes  looked  upon 
white  faces,  and  there  was  upon  the  heart  of 
each  the  clutch  of  an  icy  hand.  So  appalling 
was  the  sensation  that  the  five  conspirators 
breathed  not  nor  spoke,  but  listened  for  the 
heartbeats  that  had  stopped  when  fears  finally 
gave  way  to  complete  conviction.  They  were 
as  if  recovering  from  the  fright  of  seeing  a 
ghost;  spirits  seemed  to  have  swept  past  them 
with  cold  wings,  carrying  off  the  prisoner  they 
thought  secure;  only  supernatural  forces  could 
be  charged  with  the  penetration  of  their  im- 
pregnable wall. 

The  discovery  of  the  prisoner's  flight  was  not 
made  until  Baker  knocked  on  Lady  Saxon- 
dale's  door  and  inquired  for  Miss  Garrison  at 
bedtime.  Then  it  was  recalled  that  she  had 
left  the  others  at  nine  o'clock,  pleading  a 
331 


332  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

headache,  but  she  did  not  go  to  her  room.  In- 
vestigation revealed  the  fact  that  her  jewelry,  a 
cape  and  a  traveling  hat  were  missing.  Re- 
membering her  first  attempt  to  escape  and  re- 
calling the  very  apparent  nervousness  that 
marked  her  demeanor  during  the  day,  Lady 
Saxondale  alarmed  the  house. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  conspirators  and  a 
knot  of  sleepy  servants  stood  in  the  courtyard, 
staring  at  the  great  gate.  It  was  closed  but 
unlocked.  There  were  but  two  known  keys  to 
the  big  lock,  and  since  the  arrival  of  the  party 
at  the  castle  they  had  not  been  out  of  Lord 
Saxondale's  possession.  The  girl  could  not 
have  used  either  of  them  and  the  lock  had  not 
been  forced;  what  wonder,  then,  that  in  the 
first  moments  of  bewilderment  they  shrank 
back  as  if  opposed  by  the  supernatural? 

No  one  present  had  seen  her  leave  the 
castle,  and  there  was  no  way  of  telling  how 
long  she  had  been  gone,  except  that  it  was  not 
longer  than  two  hours.  After  the  first  shock 
of  realization,  however,  the  men  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  assistance  had  come  from  the 
outside,  or  that  there  was  a  traitor  on  the 
inside.  They  were  excitedly  questioning  the 
long-trusted  servants  when  Lady  Jane  made  a 
second  discovery. 


THE  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  PRIEST     333 

"Where  is  Turk?"  she  cried,  and  every  eye 
swept  through  the  group. 

"Gone,  by  God!"  exclaimed  Quentin,  in 
helpless  amazement.  No  one  had  given 
thought  to  his  illness  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment.  He  had  been  called  forth  with  the 
rest,  and  when  he  coughed  not  even  he  took 
note  of  the  fact.  This  was  no  time  to  think  of 
colds  and  fevers  and  such  a  trifling  thing  as 
death.  He  shivered,  but  it  was  not  with  the 
chill  of  a  sick  man;  it  was  the  shiver  of  fear. 

"Good  Lord,  he  can't  be  the  one!  Turk 
would  die  for  me!"  he  cried,  almost  piteously. 

"He  is  gone,  and  so  is  she,"  grated  Lord 
Bob.  "What  are  we  to  infer?  He  has  sold  us 
out,  Quentin;  that's  the  truth  of  it." 

"I'm  damned!"  almost  wept  Dickey  Savage. 
"They'll  have  a  pack  of  officers  here  before 
morning.  I  don't  give  a  hoot  for  myself,  but 
Lady  Saxondale  and " 

"Great  heaven!  what  have  I  brought  you  to 
in  my  folly?"  groaned  Quentin,  covering  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

"Open  the  gate!"  called  a  hoarse  voice  out- 
side the  wall,  and  every  heart  stopped  beating, 
every  face  went  white.  A  heavy  boot  crashed 
against  the  gate. 

"The   officers!"    whispered    Lady    Jane,    in 


334  CA  S  TLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

terror.       Dickey    Savage's    arm    went    round 
her. 

"Let  me  in!     Git  a  move  on!" 

"It's  Turk!"  roared  Quentin,  springing 
toward  the  gate.  An  instant  later  Turk  was 
sprawling  inside  the  circle  of  light  shed  by  the 
lantern,  and  a  half-dozen  voices  were  hurling 
questions  at  him. 

The  little  man  was  in  a  sorry  plight.  He 
was  dirt-covered  and  bloody,  and  he  was  so 
full  of  blasphemy  that  he  choked  in  suppress- 
ing it. 

"Where  is  she?  Where  have  you  been?" 
cried  Quentin,  shaking  him  violently  in  his 
agitation. 

"Gimme  time,  gimme  time!"  panted  Turk. 
"I've  got  to  git  my  breath,  ain't  I?  She's  flew 
^:h'  coop,  an'  I  couldn't  head  her  off.  Say, 
has  a  priest  been  loafin'  aroun'  here  lately?" 

"A  priest!"  cried  Lord  Bob.  "There  hasn't 
been  one  here  since  Father  Bivot  came  three 
years  ago  to " 

"I  mean  this  week,  not  t'ree  years  ago. 
She's  gone  with  a  priest,  an'  I'm  nex'  to  who 
he  is,  too.  He  ain't  no  more  priest  'n  I  am. 
It's  that  French  detective,  Courant,  an'  he's 
worked  us  to  a  fare-you-well.     He's  th'  boy!" 

This    startling    news    threw   the    party   into 


THE  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  PRIEST     335 

deeper  consternation  than  before.  The  little 
ex-burglar  was  not  a  fluent  talker  at  best,  but 
he  now  excelled  himself  in  brevity.  In  three 
minutes  he  had  concluded  his  story,  and 
preparations  were  well  under  way  for  the  pur- 
suit. 

He  was,  according  to  his  narrative,  sitting 
in  the  lower  end  of  the  courtyard  about  nine 
o'clock,  calmly  smoking  his  pipe,  when  his 
attention  was  caught  by  the  long,  shrill  call  of 
a  night  bird.  No  such  sound  had  come  to  his 
ears  during  his  stay  at  the  castle,  and  his  curi- 
osity was  aroused.  Not  dreaming  of  what  was 
to  follow,  he  slowly  walked  toward  the  front  of 
the  castle.  A  woman  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the 
wall  near  the  gate.  Hardly  had  his  eyes  made 
out  the  dim  figure  when  the  whistle  was  re- 
peated. Before  he  fully  grasped  the  situation, 
the  big  gate  swung  slowly  inward  and  another 
figure,  at  first  glance  that  of  a  woman,  stood 
inside  the  wall.  He  heard  the  woman  call 
softly:  "Is  that  you,  Father?"  A  man's  voice 
replied,  but  the  words  were  too  low  to  be  dis- 
tinguished. The  woman  drew  back  as  if  to 
return  to  the  hiuse,  but  the  newcomer  was  at 
her  side,  and  his  hand  was  on  her  arm. 

There  was  a  moment  of  indecision,  then  re- 
sistance, two  or  three  sharp  words  from   the 


336  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

man,  and  then  the  two  seemed  to  fade  through 
the  wall.  The  ponderous  gate  was  closing 
before  the  dumbfounded  watcher  could  collect 
his  wits.  Like  a  shot  he  was  across  the 
stones,  now  alive  to  the  meaning  of  the 
strange  proceeding.  With  desperate  hands  he 
grasped  the  bar  of  the  gate  and  pulled,  utter- 
ing a  loud  shout  of  alarm  at  the  same  time. 
Surprised  by  the  sudden  interference,  the  man 
on  the  other  side  gave  way  and  Turk  was 
through  the  opening  and  upon  him.  A  stun- 
ning blow  on  the  head  met  him  as  he  hurled 
himself  forward,  and  he  plunged  headlong 
to  the  ground.  As  he  struggled  to  his  feet 
another  blow  fell,  and  then  all  was  darkness. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  again  two  figures 
were  careening  down  the  steep  path,  a  hundred 
yards  away.  They  were  running,  and  were 
plainly  distinguishable  in  the  moonlight. 
Turk  knew  that  the  woman  was  Dorothy  Garri- 
son. He  had  heard  her  cry,  after  the  first 
blow,  "Don't!  Don't  kill  him,  Father!  It  is 
Turk!"  Crazed  with  anger  and  determined  to 
recapture  her  single-handed,  Turk  neglected  to 
call  for  help.  With  the  blocd  streaming  down 
his  face,  he  dashed  off  in  pursuit.  There  was 
in  his  heart  the  desire  to  kill  the  man  who  had 
struck  him  down.     Near  the  foot  of  the  hill  he 


THE  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  PRIEST     337 

came  up  with  them  and  he  was  like  a  wild- 
cat. 

Miss  Garrison  had  fallen  to  her  knees  and 
was  moaning  as  if  in  pain.  The  priest  crouched 
behind  her,  protecting  his  person  from  a  pos- 
sible shot  from  the  pursuer.  "For  God's  sake, 
don't  shoot  him!"  screamed  the  girl,  but  a 
moment  later  there  was  a  flash  of  light,  a  re- 
port, and  a  pistol  ball  whizzed  by  Turk's  ear. 
He  was  unarmed,  but  he  did  not  stop.  Throw- 
ing himself  forward,  he  stretched  out  his  arms 
to  grasp  the  crouching  priest,  hoping  to  pre- 
vent the  firing  of  another  shot.  But  he  had 
not  reckoned  on  the  cleverness  of  the  man  at 
bay.  The  priest  dropped  flat  to  the  ground 
and  Turk  plunged  over  his  body,  wildly  clutch- 
ing for  the  prostrate  man  as  he  went.  With 
the  cunning  of  a  fox,  the  priest,  on  realizing 
that  he  could  not  avoid  a  personal  conflict,  had 
looked  about  for  means  to  end  the  pursuit 
effectually. 

Retarded  in  his  progress  by  the  tired,  trem- 
bling girl,  he  saw  that  a  stand  against  the  on- 
comer  was  unavoidable.  He  cleverly  selected 
the  spot  for  this  stand,  and  braced  himself  as 
for  the  onslaught.  Scarcely  a  yard  beyond  his 
position  there  was  a  sharp  declivity  among  the 
rocks,  with  a  clear  drop  of  a  dozen  feet  or  more 


338  CA STLE  CRANE YCRO  W 

to  the  bottom  of  a  wide  crevasse.  His  shot 
went  wild  and  he  could  not  repeat  it,  for  Dor- 
othy was  frantically  clutching  his  arm.  The 
strategem  worked  well,  and  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  hearing  a  mighty  oath  as  Turk,  un- 
able to  check  himself,  slipped  from  the  edge 
and  went  crashing  to  the  rocks  below. 

With  the  speed  of  a  hunted  animal,  the 
priest  leaped  to  his  feet,  dragging  the  gir' 
after  him,  and  a  harsh  laugh  came  from  h.s 
throat  as  they  dashed  onward.  A  quick  glance 
behind  showed  there  had  been  but  one  pursuer, 
and  the  man  in  the  robes  of  holiness  chuckled 
exultantly.  But,  if  Dorothy  Garrison  believed 
him  to  be  the  priest  his  robes  declared,  the 
moonlight  told  the  fallen  Turk  the  truth.  In- 
deed, it  was  the  intentness  with  which  the  little 
ex-burglar  gazed  upon  the  white  face  of 
Courant  that  prevented  him  from  seeing  the 
ledge  as  he  dashed  up  to  the  couple. 

How  long  it  was  afterward  that  Turk  came 
to  his  senses  and  crawled  back  to  the  roadway, 
dizzy,  weak  and  defeated,  he  knew  not.  He 
could  only  groan  and  gnash  his  teeth  when  he 
stood  erect  again  and  saw  that  he  was  utterly 
alone.  Courant  and  the  girl  were  gone.  In 
shame  and  humiliation  he  climbed  the  hill  to 
call  for  help. 


THE  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  PRIEST     839 

Just  as  the  searching  party  was  about  to  rush 
recklessly  from  the  courtyard,  servants  having 
been  instructed  to  bring  out  the  horses,  Lady 
Jane  espied  a  white  piece  of  paper  on  the 
ground  near  the  gate.  And  then  it  was  that 
they  read  the  parting  message  from  the  girl 
who  was  gone.  With  a  trembling  voice  Lady 
Saxondale  read: 

"I  have  found  a  way,  and  I  am  going,  if 
nothing  prevents.  With  the  help  of  my  good 
angel  I  shall  soon  be  far  from  this  place.  A 
holy  man  in  passing  saw  my  signal  of  distress 
and  promised  rescue.  You  have  been  good  to 
me,  and  I  can  only  repay  you  by  refusing  to 
expose  you.  This  priest  does  not  know  who 
you  are.  I  shall  not  tell  him  or  any  who  may 
be  with  him.  No  one  shall  ever  know  from  me 
that  you  were  my  abductors.  God  grant  that 
you  may  never  have  to  pay  the  penalty.  Go, 
while  you  may,  for  the  truth  may  become 
known  without  my  help,  and  I  may  not  be  able 
to  save  you.  Save  yourselves,  all  of  you.  I 
mean  Philip  Ouentin,  too,  because  I  know  he 
loves  me. 

"Dorothy." 

Philip  Quentin  took  the  forlorn,  even  dis- 
tressed,   message    from    the    hands   of    Lady 


340  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

Saxondale,  kissed  it  devoutly,  and  placed  it  in 
his  pocket. 

"Philip  is  too  ill  to  go  out  on  this  desperate 
chase,"  cried  Lady  Saxondale. 

"111!  I'll  die  if  I  am  not  gone  from  here  in 
five  minutes!  Great  Lord,  Bob,  those  fools 
have  been  an  hour  getting  the  horses!"  groaned 
Quentin,  pacing  back  and  forth  like  a  caged 
animal. 

"Don't  get  excited,  Phil;  keep  your  head. 
You're  not  fit  to  be  running  about  in  a  business 
like  this,  but  all  Christendom  couldn't  stop 
you.  It  may  be  a  wild  goose  chase,  after  all," 
said  Lord  Bob. 

"She's  been  carried  back  to  the  accursed  vil- 
lain who  employs  Courant,  and  I'll  die  before 
I'll  let  him  have  her.  Oh,  what  fools  we've 
been!" 

"Here's  a  puzzler,  old  man,"  said  Dickey. 
"Why  was  not  Ugo  here  to  help  Courant  if  he 
knew  anything  about  the  fellow's  actions?  By 
cracky,  I  don't  believe  Ugo  knows  anything 
about  the  Frenchman's  find." 

"He  owns  Courant,  body  and  soul!" 

"That  jacky  is  out  for  the  hundred  thousand 
francs,  and  he's  working  on  his  own  hook  this 
time,  my  boy.  He's  after  the  reward,  and 
he's  the  only  one  that  has  been  keen  enough 


THE  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  PRIEST    3ii 

to  find  us  out.  Mark  me,  he  is  working 
alone. 

"Sure,  he  is,"  added  Turk.  "He's  got  no 
pardners  in  th'  job,  er  he'd  a'  had  em  along 
to-night.  S'pose  he'd  run  into  a  gang  like 
this  alone  if  he  had  anybody  t'  fall  back  on? 
Not  on  your  life.  We're  a  mighty  tough  gang, 
an'  he  takes  no  chances  Vv^ith  us  if  he's  workin' 
fer  anybody  else." 

"We're  not  a  tough  gang!"  wailed  Lady 
Jane,  in  tears.  "Oh,  what  will  become  of 
us!" 

"The  Lord  only  knows,  if  we  fail  to  get  both 
Dorothy  and  Courant,"  said  Quentin,  in  real 
anguish. 

"They  may  be  in  Luxemburg  by  this  time," 
said  Saxondale.  "  Gad,  this  is  working  in  the 
dark!" 

"That  road  down  there  don't  go  t'  Luxem- 
burg direct,  m'  lord,"  quickly  interposed 
Turk.  "It  goes  off  into  th'  hills,  don't  you 
remember?  An'  then  out  th'  valley  some 
place  'way  to  th'  north.  If  he'd  been  goin'  to 
th'  city  he'd  'a'  taken  th'  road  back  here  an' 
kep'  from  goin'  down  th'  hill." 

"You're  right,  Turk,"  exclaimed  Lord  Bob. 
"He  has  gone  up  the  valley,  headed  for  one  of 
the   little   towns,   and  will  steer  clear  of  the 


342  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

Luxemburg  officers  for  fear  they  may  demand 
a  part  of  the  reward." 

"God,  Saxondale,  are  those  horses  never 
coming?"  fumed  Quentin.  "I  won't  wait!  ' 
and  he  was  off  like  a  madman  through  the 
gate  and  down  the  steep.  Behind  him  tore 
Turk,  the  faithful. 


XXVIII 

THE  GAME  OF  THE  PRIEST 

When  Turk  pitched  over  the  crouching  form 
of  the  priest  and  into  the  dark  chasm  beyond, 
Dorothy  for  the  first  time  began  to  appreciate 
the  character  of  her  cowled  rescuer.  Panting 
and  terrified,  she  looked  into  his  hideously 
exultant  face  as  he  rose  and  peered  over  the 
ledge  after  the  luckless  pursuer.  It  was  not 
the  face  of  a  holy  man  of  God,  but  that  of  a 
creature  who  could  laugh  in  the  taking  of 
a  human  life. 

"Come  on!"  he  cried,  grasping  her  by  the 
wrist  with  no  gentle  regard.  "He's  out  of  the 
way,  but  we  have  no  time  to  lose.  The  others 
may  miss  you  at  any  moment,  and  we  must  be 
in  the  wood  if  we  hope  to  fool  them." 

"I   have  changed  my  mind "  she  began, 

holding  back  as  he  dragged  her  after  him  down 
the  slope. 

"It  is  too  late,"  he  said,  harshly.  "You 
will  soon  be  with  your  friends,  my  child.  Do 
not  lose  heart,  but  trust  to  me." 

"Who  are  you?    You  are  not  a  priest.     Why 

have  you  disguised  yourself -" 

343 


344  CA  STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

"Not  so  loud,  my  child,  not  so  loud!  They 
may  have  guards  even  here.  If  I  am  not  a 
priest,  then  may  heaven  shut  its  gates  on  me 
forever.  Because  I  am  a  man  and  have  un- 
done one  of  your  enemies,  j^ou  should  not  ques- 
tion my  calling.  It  is  no  time  for  prayer. 
When  we  are  safe  from  pursuit,  you  will  regret 
the  doubt  you  have  just  expressed.  Trust  to 
me,  my  child.  But  run,  for  God's  sake,  run! 
Don't  hang  back  when  all  depends  on  our 
speed  in  the  next  half-hour." 

"Where  are  you  taking  me?  Answer,  or  I 
shall  refuse  to  go  another  step  with  you!"  she 
exclaimed,  now  thoroughly  aroused  and  deter- 
mined. 

"My  wagon  is  hitched  in  the  wood  over 
there.  In  it  we  will  go  to  a  town  up  the  val- 
ley, where  I  have  the  promise  of  help.  I  could 
have  brought  a  big  force  of  men  with  me,  but 
don't  you  see  what  a  mistake  it  would  have 
been?  Rather  than  surrender  you  to  a  force 
they  would  have  killed  you  and  secreted  your 
body  in  the  passages  under  the  castle.  It  is 
commonly  known  that  the  cellars  are  paved 
with  skeletons."  Here  Dorothy  shuddered  in 
recollection.  "Strategy  was  the  only  means 
of  getting  you  out  safely." 

"They  would  not  have  killed  me,"  she  cried, 


THE  GAME  OF  THE  PRIEST  345 

breathlessly.  They  were  moving  rapidly  along 
the  level  roadway  now,  and  his  grip  on  her 
wrist  was  like  a  clasp  of  iron. 

"To  save  themselves?  Of  course,  they 
would — as  they  would  a  dog!"  he  said. 

"They  are  my  friends,  and  they  are  the  best, 
the  truest  in  the  world,"  she  gasped,  eager  to 
keep  the  promise  of  protection  made  in  the 
farewell  note. 

"You  think  they  are,  madam,  but  how  could 
they  treat  you  as  they  have  if  they  are  friends?" 
He  had  turned  into  the  wood,  and  it  was  neces- 
sary to  proceed  more  cautiously  on  account  of 
the  darkness.  She  realized  that  she  had  erred 
in  saying  they  were  friends,  and  turned  cold 
with  apprehension. 

"I  mean,  they  treated  me  well — for  crim- 
inals," she  managed  to  say. 

"Criminals!"  he  snarled.  "Bah!  Of 
course  they  are  criminals  of  the  worst  kind, 
but  they  will  never  be  punished." 

"I'm  afraid  they  are  so  clever  that  no  one 
will  ever  find  out  who  they  really  are." 

He  stopped  with  a  lurch,  and  she  could  feel 
that  he  was  looking  at  her  in  amazement. 

"I  know  who  they  are,  and  you  know  them, 
too,"  he  said,  slowly.  "Perhaps  nobody  else 
knows,  but  we  know  that  my  Lord  and  Lady 


346  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

Saxondale  and  the  two  Americans  were  your 
abductors.  The  man  I  dumped  into  the  ravine 
was  that  little  villain  Turk." 

Her  heart  almost  stopped  beating  with  the 
shock  of  knowing  that  nothing  could  now  shield 
her  captors  from  exposure. 

"But — but  it  will  be  very  hard  to  prove," 
she  said,  hoarsely,  almost  defiantly. 

"You  have  only  to  take  oath,"  he  said, 
meaningly, 

"I  don't  know  the  name  or  face  of  a  person 
in  that  castle,"  she  said,  deliberately.  He  was 
silent  for  a  full  minute. 

"You  intend  to  shield  them?"  he  demanded. 
There  was  no  answer  to  the  question.  Now 
she  was  positive  that  the  man  was  no  priest, 
but  some  one  who  knew  the  world  and  who  had 
made  it  his  business  to  trace  her  and  her 
captors  to  the  very  gates  of  the  castle.  If  he 
knew,  then  others  must  also  be  in  possession 
of  the  secret, 

"Who  are  you?"  she  demanded,  as  he  drew 
her  deeper  into  the  wood.  There  was  now 
the  wild  desire  to  escape  from  her  rescuer 
and  to  fly  back  to  the  kindly  jailers  on  the 
hill, 

"A  poor  priest,  by  the  grace  of  God,"  he 
said,  and  she  heard  him  chuckle. 


THE  GAME  OF  THE  PRIEST  347 

"Take  me  back  to  the  road,  sir!"  she  com- 
manded. 

"I  will  take  you  to  your  mother,"  he  said, 
"and  to  no  one  else." 

"But  I  am  afraid  of  you,"  she  exclaimed, 
her  courage  going.  "I  don't  know  you — I 
don't  know  where  you  are  taking  me." 

"We  will  not  go  far  to-night.  I  know  a  place 
where  you  can  hide  until  I  secure  help  from  the 
city." 

"But  you  said  you  had  a  wagon." 

"The  horse  must  have  strayed  away,  worse 
luck!"  said  he,  with  a  raucous  laugh. 

She  broke  from  his  grasp  suddenly,  and 
like  a  frightened  deer  was  off  through  the 
darkness  knowing  not  whither  she  went  or 
what  moment  she  might  crash  against  a  tree. 
The  flight  was  a  short  one.  She  heard  him 
curse  savagely  as  he  leaped  upon  her  from 
behind  after  a  chase  of  a  few  rods,  and  then 
she  swooned  dead  away. 

When  she  regained  consciousness  a  faint 
glow  of  light  met  her  eyes  as  the  lids  feebly 
lifted  themselves  from  their  torpor.  Gradu- 
ally there  came  to  her  nostrils  a  dank,  musty 
odor  and  then  the  smell  of  tobacco  smoke. 
She  was  lying  on  her  back,  and  her  eyes  at  last 
began  to  take  in  broad  rafters  and  cobwebby 


348  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

timbers  not  far  above  her  head.  The  light 
was  so  dim  that  shadows  and  not  real  objects 
seemed  to  constitute  the  surroundings.  Then 
there  grew  the  certainty  that  she  was  not  alone 
in  this  dismal  place.  Turning  her  head 
slightly,  she  was  able,  with  some  effort,  to  dis- 
tinguish the  figure  of  a  man  seated  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  low,  square  room,  his  back 
against  the  wall,  his  legs  outstretched.  At  his 
elbow,  on  a  box,  burned  a  candle,  flickering 
and  feeble  in  its  worthlessness.  He  was  smok- 
ing a  pipe,  and  there  was  about  him  an  air  of 
contentment  and  security. 

Slowly  past  events  crowded  themselves  into 
the  path  of  memory,  and  her  brain  took  them 
up  as  if  they  were  parts  of  a  dream.  For  many 
minutes  she  was  perfectly  quiet,  dumbly  con- 
templating the  stranger  who  sat  guard  over  her 
in  that  wretched  place.  In  her  mind  there  was 
quickly  developed,  as  one  brings  the  picture 
from  the  film  of  a  negative  the  truth  of  the 
situation.  She  had  escaped  from  one  set  of 
captors  only  to  give  herself  into  the  clutches 
of  others  a  thousand  times  more  detestable, 
infinitely  more  evil-hearted. 

"You've  come  back  to  life,  have  you?" 
She      started    violently    and      shivered      as 
with    a   mighty   chill    at   the    sound    of   these 


THE  GAME  OF  THE  PRIEST  349 

words.  They  came  from  the  slouching 
smoker. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  cried,  sitting  up,  a  di.-rzy 
whirling  in  her  head  Her  bed  was  no  more 
than  a  heavy  piece  of  old  carpet. 

"In  the  house  of  your  friends,"  laconically 
responded  the  voice,  now  quite  familiar.  Her 
eyes  swept  the  room  in  search  of  the  priest. 
His  robes  lay  in  a  heap  across  her  feet. 

"Where  is  Father  Paul?"  she  demanded. 

"He  is  no  more,"  said  the  man,  in  sombre 
tones.      "I  was  he  until  an  hour  ago." 

"And  you  are  no  priest?  Ah,  God  help  me, 
what  have  I  done?  What  have  I  come  to  in 
my  miserable  folly?"  she  cried,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

"Look  here.  Miss  Garrison,"  said  the  man, 
quietly.  "I  am  no  priest,  but  you  have  noth- 
ing to  fear  because  of  that  fact.  The  truth  is, 
I  am  a  detective.  For  a  month  I  was  in  the 
employ  of  Prince  Ravorelli,  and  it  was  no 
honest  business,  I  can  tell  you.  What  I  have 
done  to-night  is  straight  and  honest.  I  mean 
you  no  harm,  and  you  have  but  to  follow  my 
instructions  in  order  to  find  yourself  safe  in 
Brussels  once  more.  I  have  been  interested  in 
a  number  of  queer  transactions  but  let  me  say 
this    in    my   own    defence:    I    was    never   em- 


350  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

ployed  in  any  game  so  detestable,  so  low,  as 
the  one  your  noble  prince  was  playing  when 
you  were  snatched  away  from  him.  The  only 
regret  I  have  in  taking  you  back  to  your 
mother  comes  from  the  fear  that  you  may  go 
ahead  and  marry  that  knave." 

Dorothy  was  listening,  with  wide  eyes  and 
bated  breath,  to  the  words  of  the  lounging 
smoker. 

"I  will  never,  never  marry  him,"  she  cried, 
vehemently. 

"Stick  to  that  resolve,  my  child,"  said 
Courant,  with  mock  benevolence.  "He  is  a 
scoundrel,  and  I  cut  loose  from  him  to  do  this 
little  job  down  here  on  my  own  responsibility." 

"Tell  me,  if  you  know,  did  he  plan  to  kill 
Mr.  Quentin?  I  must  have  the  truth,"  she 
cried,  eagerly. 

"He  did  worse  than  that.  He  made  the 
attempt,  or  rather  his  agents  did.  You  see, 
Quentin  was  a  dangerous  rival  because  he 
knew  too  much." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Well,  he  knew  all  about  the  prince  when 
he  was  with  the  opera  company  in  Brazil.  I 
can't  tell  you  much  about  it,  but  there  was  a 
murder  committed  over  there  and  your  prince 
was   believed    to    be   guilty.      A   woman   was 


THE  GAME  OF  THE  PRIEST  351 

killed,  I  believe.     Quentin  knew  all  about  it, 
it  seems." 

"And  never  told  me?"  she  cried. 

"He  was  not  positive,  I  suppose.  There 
was  the  danger  of  being  mistaken,  and  this 
American  friend  of  yours  seems  honest.  He 
only  told  you  what  he  knew  to  be  a  fact,  I 
conclude." 

"Yesterday  I  heard  that  a  woman  had  been 
murdered  in  Brussels,  a  woman  who  came  to 
warn  me  against  the  prince.  Do  you  know 
who  killed  her?" 

"Good  God!  Has  she  been  killed?  Ah,  I 
knew  it  would  come;  he  was  obliged  to  get  rid 
of  her.  I  did  not  know  of  her  death,  but  I 
leave  you  to  guess  who  was  responsible  for  it. 
God,  he  is  a  devil!  You  owe  a  great  deal. 
Mademoiselle,  to  the  clever  men  who  stole  you 
from  him." 

"Alas,  1  am  beginning  to  know  it,  now  that 
it  is  too  late.  And  he  was  ill  when  I  stole 
away  to-night.  I  implore  you,  take  me  back 
to  the  castle!"  she  pleaded,  her  heart  wrung 
by  the  anguish  in  her  soul. 

"So    he    is    in    the    castle,    eh?      Just    as    I 
thought.     I'd  like  to  take  you   to  him,  espe- 
cially as  he  is  ill,  but  I  must  take  care  of  nam 
ber  one.     When  I  dropped  out  of  one  villain's 


352  CASTLE  CRANEVCROW 

employment  I  went  into  business  for  my- 
self. You  see,  there  is  about  100,000  francs 
reward  for  you,  and  there  is  the  same  for  the 
bodies  of  the  abductors.  If  I  turn  you  over  to 
your  mother  or  her  agents — not  the  prince,  by 
the  way— I  earn  the  reward.  If  I  can  procure 
the  arrest  of  your  abductors  I  get  double  the 
amount.  You  see  how  unbusiness-like  it  would 
be  if  I  were  to  let  my  sympathies  get  the  bet- 
ter of  me." 

"But  I  will  give  you  100,000  francs  if  you 
will  take  me  back  to  the  castle,"  she  cried, 
standing  before  him. 

"Have  you  the  money  with  you?" 

"Of  course  I  have  not,  but  it  shall  be  yours 
as  soon  as  I  can " 

"Pardon.  You  are  worth  nothing  to  me  in 
that  castle,  and  you  will  bring  a  fortune  in 
Brussels." 

In  vain  she  pleaded  with  the  stubborn  detec- 
tive, finally  threatening  him  with  dire  punish- 
ment if  he  refused  to  accede  to  her  demands. 
Then  he  arose  in  sudden  wrath,  cursing  her 
roundly  and  vowing  she  should  not  leave  the 
room  alive  if  she  persisted  in  such  threats.  He 
told  her  that  she  was  in  a  cave  beneath  the 
ruins  of  an  old  church,  long  the  haunt  of  rob- 
bers, now  the  home  of  snakes  and  bats.     In- 


THE  GAME  OF  THE  PRIEST  353 

deed,  as  he  spoke  a  flittermouse  scurried 
through  the  air  within  a  foot  of  her  ear. 

"We  rest  here  until  to-morrow  night,  and 
then  wi^start  out  to  walk.  You  cannot  be  seen 
in  that  dress,  either.  I  have  clothing  here  in 
this  box  for  you  to  wear.  My  dear  young 
lady,  you  must  make  believe  that  you  are 
my  younger  brother  for  a  day  or  two,  at 
least." 

A  look  of  horror  came  into  her  face,  suc- 
ceeded by  the  deep  red  of  insulted  modesty, 
and  then  the  white  of  indignation. 

"I  will  die  first,  you  wretch!"  she  exclaimed. 
In  that  moment  she  believed  she  could  have 
killed  the  smiling  rogue  with  her  own 
hands. 

"We  shall  see,"  he  said,  roughly.  "Look  at 
them;  they  are  respectable  in  cut  and  they  are 
clean."  He  drew  the  garments  from  the  box, 
piece  by  piece,  and  held  them  before  her  flam- 
ing face.  "I'm  going  out  to  take  a  look  about 
the  valley.  You  are  quite  safe  here.  No  one 
knows  where  you  are,  and  the  robbers  have 
been  dead  for  twenty  years.  One  of  them 
still  has  his  skeleton  in  the  room  just  off  this 
one,  but  he  is  a  harmless  old  fellow.  In  an 
hour  I  will  return,  and  we  will  eat.  It  is  now 
three  o'clock,  and  the  sun^will  soon  be  rising. 


354  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

To-night    we   venture    forth    as   brothers,    re- 
member." 

He  pulled  his  cap  down  over  his  eyes,  but- 
toned his  coat  about  his  throat,  changed  a 
re\'olver  from  one  pocket  to  another,  and  de- 
liberately stalked  across  the  room  to  the  nar- 
row door.  An  instant  later  she  heard  the  key 
rasp  in  the  lock  and  she  was  alone. 

"Oh,  heaven,  if  Philip  Quentin  could  see  me 
now!  If  he  could  but  hear  my  sobs  and  see  my 
tears!  How  he  would  rejoice,  how  he  would 
laugh,  how  he  would  pity  me.  This  is  your 
triumph,  Philip  Quentin,  but  you  are  not  here 
to  claim  the  wretched  victory.  Fool!  Fool! 
Fool!" 

She  had  thrown  herself  face  downward  on  the 
patch  of  carpet  and  was  writhing  in  the  agony 
of  fear  and  regret.  Suddenly  there  came  to 
her  ears  the  distant  report  of  a  firearm,  the  rush 
of  feet  and  then  something  heavy  crashed 
against  the  little  door.  She  was  on  her  feet  in 
an  instant,  cowering  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
room,  her  face  among  the  cobwebs.  Panic 
seized  her,  and  she  screamed  aloud  in  her  ter- 
ror. Outside  the  door  there  were  sounds  of  a 
savage  struggle,  but  they  rapidly  became  in- 
distinct, and  finally  passed  beyond  hearing 
altogether.     She  ran  to  the  door  and  pounded 


THE  GAME  OF  THE  PRIEST  355 

on  it  with  hands  that  knew  not  the  bruises  they 
were  acquiring,  and  she  moaned  in  the  fear 
that  the  rescuers,  for  such  they  surely  must 
be,  were  leaving  her  behind. 

"Phil!  Phil!"  she  cried  again  and  again. 
But  there  suddenly  came  to  her  a  terrifying 
thought,  and  she  fell  back,  cold  and  voiceless. 
Ugo!  What  if  he  had  at  last  run  the  treacher- 
ous Courant  to  earth?  What  if  the  rescuer  were 
he? 

She  slunk  away  from  the  door,  the  dampness 
of  dread  sending  a  chill  to  her  heart.  And 
when  again  the  rush  of  footsteps  brought  a 
heavy  body  against  the  door,  she  had  not  the 
voice  to  cry  out,  so  sure  was  she  that  Ugo 
Ravorelli  was  coming  to  her  in  that  dismal 
hole. 

Then  the  door  gave  way,  and  Philip  Quentin 
came  plunging  into  the  room,  hatless,  coat- 
less,  his  shirt  in  shreds.  The  mighty  draft  of 
air  from  the  open  door  killed  the  sickly  candle- 
flame,  but  not  before  they  had  seen  each  other. 
For  the  second  time  that  night  she  lost  con- 
sciousness. 

At  the  bottom  of  a  deep  ravine  lay  the  body 
of  Courant.  He  had  fled  from  before  the  two 
adversaries  after  a  vain  attempt  to  reenter  the 
room  below  the  church  and  had  blindly  dashed  , 


356  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

over  the  cliff.  Turk,  with  more  charity  than 
Courant  had  shown  not  many  hours  before, 
climbed  down  the  dangerous  steep,  and,  in 
horror,  touched  his  quivering  hand.  Then 
came  the  last  gasp. 


XXIX 

DOROTHY'S  SOLUTION 

Quentin  carried  her  forth  into  the  night. 
When  Turk  came  upon  him  in  the  darkness  a 
few  minutes  later,  he  was  wandering  about  the 
hilltop,  the  limp  figure  of  the  woman  he  loved 
in  his  arms,  calling  upon  her  to  speak  to  him, 
to  forgive  him.  The  IJttle  man  checked  him 
just  in  time  to  prevent  an  ugly  fall  over  a  steej^ 
embankment. 

"My  God,  she's  dead,  Turk!"  he  groaned, 
placing  her  tendeily  on  the  grassy  sward  and 
supporting  her  head  with  his  arm.  "The 
wretch  has  killed  her." 

"He's  paid  for  it,  if  he  did.  I  guess  it's 
nothin'  but  a  faint  er  a  fit.  Does  she  have 
fits?"  demanded  Turk,  earnestly.  Quentin 
paid  no  heed  to  him,  but  feverishly  began 
working  with  her,  hope  springing  from  Turk's 
surmise. 

"Turk,  if  she  dies,  I  swear  to  God  I'll  kill 
myself  this  night!"  cried  he. 

"You're  talkin'  crazy,  sir.  She's  comin' 
around  all  right,  all  right.  Hear  that?  Her 
357 


358  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

^yes'll  be  busy  in  a  minute,  and  she'll  be 
askin'  where  she's  at.  Just  keeled  over,  that's 
all.  All  women  does  that  w'en  they  git's  as 
glad  as  she  wuz.  They  faint  'cause  it's  easier'n 
it  is  to  tell  how  much  obliged  they  are.  I 
know  'em.  They  pass  up  hard  jobs  like  that 
ontil  they  gits  time  t'  look  all  pale  an'  inter- 
estin'  an'  tuckered-out,  an'  then  they  ain't  no 
use  sayin'  much  obliged,  'cause  th'  man  won't 
stand  fer  it  a  minute." 

Turk  was  kneeling  opposite  Quentin  and  was 
scratching  match  after  match,  holding  them 
above  the  pale  face  until  they  burnt  his  finger 
tips.  When  Dorothy  at  last  opened  her  eyes 
she  looked  into  the  most  terrifying  face  she 
had  ever  seen,  and,  as  the  lids  closed  again 
spasmodically,  a  moan  came  from  her  lips. 
Turk's  bristled  face  was  covered  with  blood 
that  had  dried  hours  ago,  and  he  was  a  most 
uncanny  object  to  look  upon.  "Darn  me, 
she's  askeert  of  my  mug!  I'll  duck  ontil  you 
puts  her  nex'." 

"Look  up  Dorothy!  It  is  Phil!  Don't  be 
afraid,  dearest;  you  are  safe!"  He  knew  that 
her  eyes  were  open  again,  although  it  was  too 
dark  to  see  them. 

"Is  it  you,  Phil?"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,  yes!" 


DORO  THY' S  SOL  UTION  359 

"Where  is  —where  is  he?"  in  terror, 

"He  cannot  harm  you  now.     He  is  gone." 

"But  1  saw  his  face  just  now.  Oh,  you  are 
not  telling  me  the  truth!" 

"You  saw  Turk's  face,  dearest.  What  a 
time  we  had  in  finding  you!  But  you  are  safe 
now,  thank  God!" 

She  lay  very  still,  striving  to  convince  her- 
self that  she  was  awake  and  that  she  was  really 
listening  to  Philip  Quentin's  voice,  hoarse  and 
eager.  Her  hand  went  to  his  face,  impulsively 
searching  for  the  features  her  eyes  could  not 
see.  Strong  fingers  seized  it,  and  dry,  burn- 
ing lips  kissed  it  again  and  again — lips  parched 
with  fever.  The  heart  of  the  woman  asserted 
itself  at  once,  and  concern  succeeded  per- 
plexity, 

"Oh,  Phil,  you  are  ill — you  should  not  be 
here!"  she  cried,  in  distress,  and,  before  he 
could  prevent  she  was  on  her  feet,  swaying 
dizzily. 

"Then  you  are  not  hurt!"  he  cried.  "Thank 
God  for  that!"  His  arm  was  about  her  waist, 
and  a  wave  of  security  and  contentment  rolled 
through  her  being. 

"Take  me  back  to  the  castle,  Phil,"  she 
said,  simply.  "You  will  never  know  how  un- 
happy I  have  been,  how  I  have  blamed  myself 


360  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

for  running  away  as  I  did.  But,  oh,  I  thought 
he  was  a  priest,  and  I  wanted  to  prove  that  you 
could  not  keep  me  there." 

"You  do  not  have  to  stay  there,  Dorothy," 
he  said,  slowly. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  have  been  a  fool,  an  ingrate,  a  brute,  but 
I  will  atone  if  it  is  possible.  In  your  note  you 
said  you  would  forgive  the  others.  I  don't  ask 
pardon  for  myself,  but  I  implore  you  to  shield 
them.  Perhaps  it  is  too  late;  this  detective 
has  exposed  us— — " 

"He  swore  to  me  that  he  had  not,  but  he 
knows  everything,  and  may  carry  the  word  to 
the  authorities,"  she  interrupted,  in  distress. 

"The  secret  is  safe  if  he  worked  alone,  for  he 
is  dead.  Don't  be  frightened;  he  fell  over  a 
cliff  in  the  darkness.     Turk!" 

"Here,  sir." 

"We  must  get  back  to  the  castle  as  soon  as 
possible.  It  is  five  miles,  at  least.  Try  to 
find  a  trap  of  some  sort  at  once.  Miss  Garri- 
son cannot  walk  that  distance." 

"But  I  can  and  will,"  she  objected.  "I  am 
not  hurt  and  I  am  stronger  than  you." 

"Nonsense!  I'm  all  right.  I  will  return 
with  you  to  Brussels  to-morrow.  Your  im- 
prisonment is  at  an  end.     There  is  no  need  for 


DOROTHY'S  SOLUTION  361 

you  to  think  again  of  escape,  for  you  are  free 
to  go  at  this  moment.  Come  back  to  Lady 
Saxondale  for  a  while,  though,  and  when  you 
are  able  to  go  with  me  we  will  take  the  train 
for  Brussels.  Believe  me,  I  am  sorry,  but  I 
am  not  fool  enough  to  ask  you  to  forgive.  I 
don't  deserve  pardon,  perhaps,  but  I  know  that 
my  heart  was  in  the  right  and  that  I  saved  you 
from  a  much  worse  bondage  than  that  which 
you  have  spent  in  Castle  Craneycrow." 

As  if  in  a  dream,  she  walked  with  him 
through  the  first  faint  light  of  the  dawning 
day,  stunned  by  the  unexpected  words  he  had 
uttered.  In  her  mind  there  began  to  grow, 
rebelliously,  the  fear  that  he  would  do  as  he 
said!  Turk,  following  close  behind,  suddenly 
gave  a  loud  shout  and  sped  away  like  a  flash  in 
front  of  them. 

"It's  Mr.  Savage,"  he  yelled  back  to  the 
startled  couple,  "an'  he's  on  horseback!  Hi, 
there!" 

As  Dickey  Savage  came  plunging  up  the 
slope,  roaring  with  excited  joy,  she  said  to 
Quentin,  her  voice  low  and  intense: 

"I  know  now  that  you  saved  me  from  a  worse 
fate  than  death,  Phil,  and,  if  you  ask,  I  will 
forgive  as  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me.  Courant 
was  Ugo's  tool,  and  I  had  the  truth  from  him. 


362  CA  STLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

You  are  the  truest,  the  best  of  friends,  and  i 
should " 

"Stop,  Dorothy!  Not  now,  some  day,  when 
you  are  home,  after  you  have  had  time  to  think 
over  all  that  I  have  done,  right  and  wrong,  I  may 
come  to  you  with  the  question  I  will  not  ask 
now.  What  I  have  sinned  for,  if  you  want  to 
call  it  that,  I  will  sue  for  some  other  day  when 
the  world  is  looking  on.  I  will  not  make  my 
prisoner  pay  penalty  without  a  trial." 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  I  do  not  hate 
you,"  she  argued,  persistently. 

"But  you  hated  me  yesterday." 

"I  did  not." 

Just  then  Dickey  pounced  upon  them,  and,  as 
they  hurried  to  the  spot  where  Turk  was  hold- 
ing the  newcomer's  horse,  Phil  briefly  told  how 
he  and  the  little  ex-burglar  had  accidentally 
stumbled  upon  the  hiding-place  of  the  pseudo 
priest  after  hours  of  hopeless  search.  The 
two  pursuers,  tired  and  despairing,  were  lying 
on  the  ground  in  front  of  the  church  ruins, 
taking  a  few  moments  of  rest  before  climbing 
to  the  summit  of  the  hill,  when  the  luckless 
Courant  ventured  forth.  With  quick  intui- 
tion, Turk  called  out  the  detective's  name, 
and  the  ruse  worked.  The  man  they  could 
not  see   gave  a   snort  of   dismay   and   turned 


DORO  THY' S  SOL  UTION  363 

to   reenter   the    door.      And    then    came    his 
undoing. 

Turk  was  the  general  who  planned  the  return 
to  the  castle.  He  insisted  that  Quentin,  who 
was  very  weak,  take  Miss  Garrison  upon  th*^ 
horse's  back  and  ride,  while  he  and  Savage 
walked.  In  this  way  they  reached  the  gates  of 
Craneycrow.  It  was  like  the  home-coming  of 
loved  ones  who  had  been  absent  for  years. 
Three  women  were  in  tears,  and  all  of  the  men 
were  in  smiles.  Quentin's  was  the  smile  of 
one  bordering  on  delirium,  however.  A  chill 
broke  over  him,  and  the  fever  in  his  body 
renewed  its  disputed  sway.  An  hour  later  he 
was  in  bed,  and  Turk,  dispatched  by  Dorothy 
Garrison,  was  riding  to  the  nearest  town  for  a 
physician,  much  against  the  wishes  of  the  sick 
man.  He  stubbornly  insisted  that  he  would 
start  with  her  for  Brussels  within  twenty-four 
hours,  and  it  was  not  until  the  doctor  told  him 
that  he  was  in  extreme  danger  of  pneumonia 
that  he  consented  to  keep  to  his  bed. 

Resolutely  he  checked  all  desire  to  cry  his 
love  into  the  ear  of  the  gentle  nurse  who  sat 
with  him  for  hours.  He  would  not  grant  him- 
self the  slightest  deviation  from  the  course  he 
had  sworn  to  follow,  and  he  suffered  more 
from  restraint  than  from  fever.     She  found  her- 


364  CA  STLE  CRA NEYCRO  W 

self  longing  for  the  moment  when  he  would 
call  her  to  him  and  pour  out  the  love  that 
would  not  be  denied.  He  never  spoke  but  she 
hoped  for  signs  of  surrender;  he  never  looked 
at  her  that  she  did  not  expect  his  lips  to  utter 
the  story  his  eyes  were  telling.  What  he 
endured  in  that  week  of  fever,  under  the  strain 
of  love's  nursing,  only  he  could  have  told — and 
he  told  nothing.  How  she  hungered  for  the 
luxury  of  one  word,  only  she  knew — and  con- 
fessed unconsciously. 

Had  the  doctor  told  her  that  he  was  critically 
ill,  she  would  have  cast  all  restraint  aside  and 
wrung  from  him  the  words  he  was  holding 
back.  But  the  unromantic  little  doctor  calmly 
broke  the  fever,  subdued  the  congestion,  re- 
lieved the  cough  and  told  them  that  the 
"young  man  would  be  quite  well  in  a  few 
days  if  he  took  good  care  of  himself." 

The  days  of  convalescence  were  few,  for  the 
vigorous  strength  of  the  patient  had  not  been 
sapped  to  any  great  extent.  They  were  days 
of  happiness,  however,  for  all  who  lived  in 
Castle  Craneycrow.  Dickey  and  Lady  Jane 
solemnly  and  somewhat  defiantly  approached 
Lord  Bob  on  a  very  important  matter.  He 
solemnly  and  discreetly  gave  his  consent,  and 
Dickey  promised  to  be  very,  very  good  to  her 


DORO  TH  F'  5  SOL  UTION  36S 

so  long  as  he  lived.  One  day  a  real  priest, 
Father  Bivot,  came  to  the  castle  gates  to 
solicit  alms  for  the  poor  of  the  neighborhood. 
He  was  admitted,  refreshed  and  made  glad  by 
a  single  donation  that  surpassed  in  size  the 
combined  contributions  of  a  whole  valley.  It 
was  from  him  that  they  learned,  with  no  little 
uneasiness  of  mind,  that  the  body  of  Courant 
had  been  found,  and  that  it  had  been  identified 
by  the  Luxemburg  authorities.  The  cause  of 
his  death  was  a  mystery  that  defied  solution, 
however. 

The  news  that  Courant  had  been  found  and 
identified  made  Ouentin  all  the  more  eager  to 
carry  out  his  design  to  restore  Dorothy  to  her 
mother.  He  knew,  and  all  knew,  that  it  was 
but  a  question  of  a  few  days  until  Ugo  and  the 
police  would  put  two  and  two  together  and 
come  racing  into  the  valley,  certain  that 
Courant  had  been  killed  by  the  abductors  of 
Dorothy  Garrison. 

One  morning,  therefore,  shortly  after  the 
visit  of  Father  Bivot,  he  asked  Lord  Saxon- 
dale  for  the  use  of  a  conveyance,  announcing 
his  intention  to  drive  with  Dorothy  to  the  near- 
est railway  station.  There  was  dismay  in  the 
heart  of  everyone  who  sat  at  what  had  been  a 
cheerful  breakfast  table.     Quentin  deliberately 


366  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

went  on  to  say  that  he  would  take  no  lackey, 
preferring  to  expose  none  but  himself  in  the 
undertaking. 

"Can  you  be  ready  in  an  hour,  Dorothy?"  he 
asked,  after  Saxondale  had  reluctantly  con- 
sented. 

"Do  you  insist  on  carrying  out  this  Quixotic 
plan,  Phil?"  she  asked,  after  a  long  pause. 

"Positively." 

"Then,  I  can  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,"  she 
said,  leaving  the  table  abruptly. 

"Confound  it,  Phil;  she'd  rather  stay  here," 
said  Dickey,  miserably. 

"I  intend  to  restore  her  to  her  mother,  just 
the  same.  There's  no  use  discussing  it, 
Dickey.  If  they  don't  throw  me  into  jail  at 
Brussels,  I  may  return  in  a  day  or  two." 

There  was  a  faint  flush  in  Dorothy's  cheeks 
as  she  bade  good-bye  to  the  party.  Lady 
Saxondale  sagely  remarked,  as  the  trap  rolled 
out  of  sight  among  the  trees  below  the  castle, 
that  the  flush  was  product  of  resentment,  and 
Dickey  offered  to  wager  ^"20  that  she  would 
be  an  engaged  girl  before  she  reached  Brus- 
sels. 

"Do  you  know  the  road,  Phil?"  asked  Dor- 
othy, after  they  had  gone  quite  a  distance  in 
silence.     She  looked  back   as  she  spoke,  and 


DORO  THY'S  SOL  UTION  367 

her  eyes  uttered  a  mute  farewell  to  the  grim 
old  pile  of  stone  on  the  crest  of  the  hill, 

"Father  Bivot  gave  me  minute  directions 
yesterday,  and  I  can't  miss  the  way.  It's 
rather  a  long  drive,  Dorothy,  and  a  tiresome 
one  for  you,  perhaps.  But  the  scenery  is  pretty 
and  the  shade  of  the  forest  will  make  us  think 
we  are  again  in  the  Bois  de  la  Cambre. 

"If  I  were  you,  I  would  not  go  to  Brussels," 
she  said,  after  another  long  period  of  silence, 
in  which  she  painfully  sought  for  means  to  dis- 
suade him  from  entering  the  city.  She  was 
thinking  of  the  big  reward  for  his  capture  and 
of  the  greedy  officials  who  could  not  be  denied. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  the  conse- 
quences?" he  asked,  bitterly.  She  looked  at 
the  white  face  and  the  set  jaws  and  despaired. 

"You  are  not  afraid,  of  course,  but  why 
should  you  be  foolhardy?  Why  not  put  me  in 
the  coach  for  Brussels  and  avoid  the  risk  of 
being  seized  by  the  police?  I  can  travel 
alone.  If  you  are  taken,  how  can  you  or  I 
explain?"  she  went  on,  eagerly. 

"You  have  promised  to  shield  the  rest,"  he 
said,  briefly. 

"I  know,  but  I  want  to  shield  you.  Haven't 
I  told  you  that  I  forgive  everything?  Don't 
make  me  unhappy,  Phil.     It  would  kill  me  now 


S6S  CA  STLE  CRA NEYCRO  W 

if  you  were  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  police. 
They  are  crazy  to  catch  my  abductors,  and 
don't  you  remember  what  the  paper  said?  It 
said  the  people  would  kill  without  mercy. 
Please,  Phil,  for  my  sake,  don't  go  to  Brussels. 
It  is  so  unnecessary  and  so  hazardous." 

"Pray,  tell  me  what  explanation  you  could 
give  to  your  mother,  to  the  police,  to  the 
newspapers,  if  you  suddenly  appeared  in  Brus- 
sels, safe  and  sound,  and  yet  unable  to  tell  who 
had  been  your  captors  or  where  you  have  been 
held?"  he  grimly  said. 

"I  would  not  offer  an  explanation,"  she 
said,  decisively,  as  if  that  settled  everything. 

"But  you  would  be  compelled  to  make  some 
statement,  my  dear  girl.  You  couldn't  drop 
in  there  as  if  from  the  sky  and  not  tell  where 
you  have  been  and  with  whom.  The  truth 
would  be  demanded,  and  you  could  not  refuse. 
What  would  the  world,  your  mother,  the 
prince,  think " 

"Don't  mention  that  man's  name  to  me," 
she  cried. 

"Well,  what  would  be  the  natural  conclusion 
if  you  refused  to  give  an  explanation?  Don't 
you  see  that  the  papers  would  make  a  sensa- 
tion of  the  matter?  There  is  no  telling  what 
they  would  say  about  you.     The  world  would 


DORO  THY' S  SOL  UTION  369 

jump  at  the  scandal  bait,  and  you  would  be  the 
most  notorious  of  women,  to  be  perfectly  plain 
with  you.  If  you  refuse  to  expose  the  people 
who  abducted  you,  there  could  be  but  one 
inference.  It  would  simply  mean  that  you 
were  a  party  to  the  plot  and  fled  to  evade  the 
wedding  at  St.  Gudule's.  Upon  whom  would 
suspicion  fall?  Upon  the  man  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  sailed  for  New  York,  and  upon 
his  friends.  Where  have  you  been  during  the 
last  few  weeks?  If  you  did  not  answer,  the 
world  would  grin  and  say,  'In  New  York,  and 
of  her  own  volition!'  Don't  you  see,  Dorothy, 
there  is  but  one  way  to  end  this  horrible  mis- 
take of  mine?  Only  one  way  to  protect  you 
from  humiliation,  even  degradation?" 

"You    mean    by "    she    began,    iaintly, 

afraid  to  complete  the  dreaded  surmise. 

"By  the  surrender  of  the  real  criminal,"  he 
said,  calmly. 

"I  will  not  agree  to  that!"  she  cried,  im- 
peratively. "If  you  give  yourself  up  to  them, 
Philip  Quentin,  I  will  deny  every  word  of  your 
confession,"  she  went  on,  triumphantly. 

"I'm  afraid  they  would  doubt  you,"  he 
responded,  but  his  heart  leaped  gladly. 

"And  do  you  know  what  else  I  shall  do  if 
you  persist?     I'll  tell  the  world  that  you  were 


370  CASTLE  CRANE  YCROW 

not  alone  in  this  affair,  and  I'll  send  the  officers 

to  Castle  Craneycrow  to  arrest  evei'y "  she 

was  crying  hysterically,  when  he  interrupted. 

"But  you  have  promised  to  shield  them!" 

"Promised!  I  will  forget  that  I  ever  made 
a  promise.  Philip  Quentin,  either  I  go  to 
Brussels  alone  or  every  person  in  Craneycrow 
goes  to  prison  with  you.  I'll  not  spare  one  of 
them.  Promise?  What  do  I  care  for  that 
promise?  Do  as  you  like,  Phil,  but  I  mean 
every  word  of  it!" 

"You  wouldn't  dare,  Dorothy,  you  wouldn't 
dare!"  he  cried,  imploringly.  "They  are  not 
to  blame.  I  am  the  guilty  one.  They  are 
not " 

"One  way  or  the  other,  Phil!"  she  cried, 
firmly.  "It  is  safety  for  all  or  disgrace  for  all. 
Now,  will  you  go  to  Brussels?" 

"But,  my  heavens,  how  can  you  explain  to 
the  world?"  he  cried,  in  deepest  distress. 

"I  have  thought  of  all  that.  Providence 
gave  me  the  solution,"  she  said,  her  face  beam- 
ing with  the  joy  of  victory. 

"Not  even  Providence  can  supply  an  expla- 
nation," he  groaned. 

"You  forget  Courant,  the  dead  man.  He 
cannot  deny  the  charge  if  I  conclude  to  accuse 
him  of  the  crime.     He  is  the  solution!" 


XXX 

LOVE  IS  BUND 

"But  Ugo  can  disprove  it,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment's  thought. 

"Only  by  confessing  his  own  duplicity,"  she 
said,  tranquilly. 

"You  will  not  marry  him,  Dorothy?" 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes,  and  no  word 
could  have  answered  plainer  than  the  disdain 
which  swept  across  her  lovely  face. 

"What  do  you  think  of  me,  Phil?"  she 
asked,  in  hurt  fonts,  and  he  answered  with  his 
eyes  because  he  could  not  trust  his  voice. 

The  longing  to  throw  her  arms  about  the  man 
whose  burning  eyes  had  set  her  heart  afire  was 
almost  uncontrollable;  the  hope  that  he  would 
throw  off  restraint  and  cry  out  his  love,  drove 
her  timidly  into  silent  expectancy.  His  whole 
soul  surged  to  his  lips  and  eyes,  but  he  fought 
back  the  words  that  would  have  made  them 
both  so  happy.  He  knew  she  loved  him;  the 
tamtest  whisper  from  him  would  cause  her  lips 
to  breathe  the  passion  her  eyes  revealed.  And 
yet  he  was  strong  enough  to  bide  his  time. 
371 


372  CASTLE  CRA  NE  YCRO  W 

How  long  this  exquisite  communion  of 
thoughts  lasted  neither  knew  nor  cared. 
Through  the  leafy  wood  they  drove,  in  utter 
silence,  both  understanding,  both  revealing, 
both  waiting.  He  dared  not  look  at  the 
glorious,  love-lit  face,  he  dared  not  speak  to 
her,  he  dared  not  tempt  the  heart  that  might 
betray  his  head.  It  was  he  who  at  last  broke 
that  joyous  calm,  and  his  voice  was  husky  with 
suppressed  emotion. 

"You  will  not  forget  that  some  day  I  am 
coming  to  you  as  Phil  Quentin  and  not  in  the 
mask  of  a  bandit." 

"I  shall  expect  you,  robber,  to  appear  before 
a  certain  tribunal  and  there  explain,  if  you 
can,  what  led  you  to  commit  the  crime  that 
has  shocked  the  world,"  she  said,  brightly. 

"I  implore  the  leniency  of  the  high  court," 
he  said,  tenderly. 

"The  court  can  only  put  you  on  probation 
and  exact  the  promise  that  you  will  never  steal 
another  girl." 

"And  the  length  of  probation?" 

"For  all  your  natural  life,"  demurely. 

"Then  I  must  appeal  to  a  higher  court,"  he 
said,  soberly. 

"What?"  she  cried.  "Do  you  object  to  the 
judgment?" 


LO  VE  IS  BLIND  373 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "I  will 
merely  appeal  to  the  higher  court  for  permis- 
sion to  live  forever."  Both  laughed  with  the 
buoyancy  that  comes  from  suppressed  delight. 
"It  occurs  to  me,  Dorothy,"  said  he,  a  few 
minutes  later,  "that  we  are  a  long  time  in 
reaching  the  town  Father  Bivot  told  me  about. 
We  seem  to  be  in  the  wilds,  and  he  said  there 
were  a  number  of  houses  within  five  miles  of 
Craneycrow.  Have  we  passed  a  single  habita- 
tion?" 

"I  have  not  seen  one,  but  I'm  sorry  the  time 
seems  long,"  she  said. 

"I  wonder  if  we  have  lost  the  way,"  he  went 
on,  a  troubled  expression  in  his  eyes.  "This 
certainly  iSn't  a  highway,  and  he  said  we  would 
come  to  one  within  three  miles  of  the  castle. 
See;  it  is  eleven  o'clock,  and  we  have  been 
driving  for  more  than  two  hours  at  a  pretty  fair 
gait.  By  the  eternal,  Dorothy,  we  may  be 
lost!" 

"How  delightful!"  she  cried,  her  eyes  spark- 
ling. 

"I  don't  believe  you  care,"  he  exclaimed,  in 
surprise. 

"I  should  have  said  how  frightful,"  she  cor- 
rected, contritely. 

"This  isn't  getting  you  on  a  train,   by  any 


374  CASTLE  CR AN EYC ROW 

manner  of  means,"  he  said.  "Could  I  have 
misunderstood  the  directions  he  gave?"  He 
was  really  disturbed. 

"And  the  poor  horse  seems  so  tired,  too,"  she 
said,  serenely. 

"By  Jove!  Didn't  we  cross  a  stream  an  hour 
or  so  ago?"  he  cried. 

"A  horrid,  splashy  little  stream?  We 
crossed  it  long  ago." 

"Well,  we  shouldn't  have  crossed  it,"  he 
said,  ruefully.  "I  should  have  turned  up  the 
hill  over  the  creek  road.  We're  miles  out  of 
the  way,  Dorothy." 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  asked,  with  a  brave 
show  of  dismay. 

"I  don't  know.  We're  in  a  deuce  of  a 
pickle,  don't  you  see?"  he  said. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do  see,"  she  said.  "Can't 
we  drive  back  to  the  creek?" 

"We  could  if  I  could  turn  the  confounded 
trap  about.  But  how,  in  the  name  of  heaven, 
can  I  turn  on  a  road  that  isn't  wide  enough  for 
two  bicycles  to  pass  in  safety?  Steep,  un- 
climable  hill  on  our  left,  deep  ravine  on  our 
right." 

"And  a  narrow  bit  of  a  road  ahead  of  us," 
she  said.  "It  looks  vQ.ty  much  as  if  the 
crooked  and  narrow  path  is  the  best  this  time." 


LO  VE  IS  BLIND  375 

That  narrow  road  seemed  to  have  no  end 
and  it  never  widened.  The  driving  at  last 
became  dangerous,  and  they  realized  that  the 
tired  horse  was  drawing  them  up  a  long,  grad- 
ual slope.  The  way  became  steeper,  and  the 
road  rough  with  rocks  and  ruts.  Her  com- 
posure was  rapidly  deserting  her,  and  he  was 
the  picture  of  impatience. 

"If  we  should  meet  anyone  else  driving, 
what  would  happen?"  she  asked,  fearfully. 

"We  won't  meet  anyone,"  he  answered. 
"Nobody  but  a  mountain  goat  would  wittingly 
venture  up  this  road.  This  poor  old  nag  is 
almost  dead.  This  is  a  pretty  mess!  How 
do  you  like  the  way  I'm  taking  you  to  the 
train?" 

"Is  this  another  abduction?"  she  asked, 
sweetly,  and  both  laughed  merrily,  in  spite  of 
their  predicament.  His  haggard  face,  still 
showing  the  effects  of  illness,  grew  more  and 
more  troubled,  and  at  last  he  said  they  would 
have  to  get  down  from  the  trap,  not  only  to 
avoid  the  danger  of  tipping  over  the  cliff,  but 
to  relieve  the  horse.  In  this  sorry  fashion 
they  plodded  along,  now  far  above  the  forest, 
and  in  the  cool  air  of  the  hilltops. 

"There  certainly  must  be  a  top  to  this 
accursed  hill,"  he  panted.     He  was  leading  the 


376  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

horse  by  the  bit,  and  she  was  bravely  trudging 
at  his  side. 

"There  is  a  bend  in  the  road  up  yonder, 
Phil,"  she  said. 

When  they  turned  the  bend  in  the  tortuous 
mountain  road,  both  drew  up  sharply,  with  a 
gasp  of  astonishment.  For  a  long  time 
neither  spoke,  their  bewildered  minds  strug- 
gling to  comprehend  the  vast  puzzle  that  con- 
fronted them.  Even  the  fagged  horse  pricked 
up  his  ears  and  looked  ahead  with  interest. 
Not  three  hundred  yards  beyond  the  bend 
stood  the  ruins  of  an  enormous  castle. 

"It  is  Craneycrow!"  gasped  the  man,  leaning 
dizzily  against  the  shaft  of  the  trap.  She  could 
only  look  at  him  in  mute  consternation.  It 
was  Craneycrow,  beyond  all  doubt,  but  what 
supernatural  power  had  transferred  it  bodily 
from  the  squarrose  hill  on  which  it  had  stood 
for  centuries,  to  the  spot  it  now  occupied,  grim 
and  almost  grinning?  "Is  this  a  dream,  Dor- 
othy?    Are  we  really  back  again?" 

I  can't  believe  it,"   she  murmured.      "We 
must  be  deceived  by  a  strange  resem " 

"There  is  Bob  himself!  Good  heavens,  this 
paralyzes  me!     Hey,  Bob!  Bob!" 

A  few  minutes  later  a  limping  horse  dragged 
his  bones  into  the  courtyard  and  two  shame- 


LO  VE  IS  BLIND  377 

faced  travelers  stood  before  a  taunting  quartet, 
enduring  their  laughter,  wincing  under  their 
jests,  blushing  like  children  when  the  shots 
went  home.  For  hours  they  had  driven  in  a 
circle,  rounding  the  great  row  of  hills,  at  last 
coming  to  the  very  gate  from  which  they  had 
started  forth  so  confidently.  They  were  tired 
and  hungry  and  nervous. 

"Did  you  telegraph  your  mother  you  were 
coming?"  asked  Dickey  Savage. 

"We  did  not  even  see  a  telegraph  wire," 
answered  Dorothy,  dismally. 

"What  did  you  see?"   he  asked,  maliciously. 

"You  should  not  ask  confusing  questions, 
Richard,"  reprimanded  Lady  Jane,  with  mock 
severity. 

"Well,  we'll  try  it  over  again  to-morrow," 
decided  Quentin,  doggedly. 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  let  you  kill  every 
horse  I  own?"  demanded  Lord  Bob.  "They 
can't  stand  these  round-the-world  pleasure  trips 
every  day,  don't  you  know.  Glad  to  oblige 
you,  my  boy,  but  I  must  be  humane." 

That  evening  Father  Bivot  came  to  the 
castle,  just  as  they  were  leaving  the  dinner 
table.  He  brought  startling  news.  Not  an 
hour  before,  while  on  his  way  from  the  near- 
est village,  he  had  come  upon  a  big  party  of 


378  CASTLE  CRA NE  YCRO  W 

men,  quartered  on  the  premises  of  a  gardener 
down  the  valley.  It  required  but  little  effort 
on  his  part  to  discover  that  they  were  officers 
from  the  capital,  and  that  they  were  looking- 
for  the  place  where  Courant's  body  was  found. 
The  good  Father  also  learned  that  detectives 
from  Brussels  were  in  the  party,  and  that  one 
of  the  men  was  a  prince.  The  eager  listeners 
in  Castle  Craneycrow  soon  drew  from  the  priest 
enough  to  convince  them  that  Ugo  was  at  the 
head  of  the  expedition,  and  that  it  was  a  mat- 
ter of  but  a  few  hours  until  he  and  his  men 
would  be  knocking  at  the  gates. 

"The  prince  did  not  address  me,"  said 
Father  Bivot,  "but  listened  intently,  as  I  now 
recall,  to  everything  I  said  in  response  to  the 
Luxemburg  officer's  questions.  That  person 
asked  me  if  Lord  Robert  Saxondale  owned  a 
place  in  the  valley,  and  I  said  that  his  lordship 
dwelt  in  Castle  Craneycrow.  The  men  were 
very  curious,  and  a  tall  Italian  whispered  ques- 
tions to  the  officer,  who  put  them  to  me  roughly. 
There  was  no  harm  in  telling  them  that  his 
lordship  was  here  with  a  party  of  friends " 

"Good  Lord!"  gasped  Dickey,  despairingly. 

"It  is  all  over,"  said  Quentin,  his  face  rigid. 

"What  will  they  do?"  demanded  Dorothy, 
panic-stricken. 


LO  VE  IS  BLIND  379 

*'I  do  not  understand  your  agitation,  good 
friends,"  said  the  priest,  in  mild  surprise. 
"Have  I  done  wrong  in  telling  them  you  are 
here?     Who  are  they?     Are  they  enemies?" 

"They  are  searching  for  me.  Father  Bivot," 
said  Dorothy,  resignedly. 

"For  you,  my  child?"  in  wonder. 

"They  want  to  take  me  back  to  Brussels. 
You  would  not  understand.  Father,  if  I  told  you 
the  story,  but  I  do  not  want  them  to  find  me 
here." 

A  frightened  servant  threw  open  the  door 
unceremoniously  at  this  juncture  and,  con- 
trolling his  excitement  with  moderate  success, 
announced  that  a  crowd  of  men  were  at  the 
gates,  demanding  admission. 

"My  God,  Bob,  this  will  ruin  you  and  Lady 
Saxondale!"  groaned  Quentin.  "What  can  we 
do?     Escape  by  the  underground  passage?" 

Lord  Saxondale  was  the  coolest  one  in  the 
party.  He  squared  his  shoulders,  sniffed  the 
air  belligerently,  and  said  he  would  take  the 
matter  in  his  own  hands. 

"Frances,  will  you  take  Miss  Garrison  up- 
stairs with  you?  And  Jane,  I  suspect  you 
would  better  go,  too  The  secret  passage  is 
not  to  be  considered  Y  we  attempt  to  leave 
the  place,  after  the  information  Father  Bivot 


380  CASTLE  CRANEYCRO IV 

has  given  them,  it  will  be  a  clean  admission  of 
guilt.  We  will  face  them  down.  They  can*t 
search  the  castle  without  my  permission,  and 
they  can't  trespass  here  a  minute  longer  than  I 
desire.  Do  you  care  to  see  the  prince,  Quen- 
tin?" 

"See  him?  It  is  my  duty  and  not  yours  to 
meet  him.  It  means  nothing  to  me  and  it 
means  disgrace  to  you,  Bob.  Let  me  talk 
to 

"If  you  intend  to  act  like  an  ass,  Phil,  you 
shan't  talk  to  him.  I  am  in  control  here,  and 
I  alone  can  treat  with  him  and  the  officers," 

"Please,  sir,  they  are  becoming  very  angry, 
and  say  they  will  break  down  the  gates  in  the 
name  of  the  law,"  said  the  servant,  reentering 
hurriedly. 

"I  will  go  out  and  talk  to  them  about  the 
law,"  said  Saxondale,  grimly.  "Don't  be 
alarmed.  Miss  Garrison.  We'll  take  care  of 
you.  Gad,  you  look  as  if  you  want  to  faint! 
Get  her  upstairs,  Frances." 

"I  must  speak  with  you,  Lord  Saxondale," 
cried  Dorothy,  clutching  his  arm  and  drawing 
him  apart  from  the  pale-faced  group.  Eagerly 
she  whispered  in  his  ear,  stamping  her  foot  in 
reply  to  his  blank  objections.  In  the  end  she 
grasped  both  his  shoulders  and  looked  up  into 


LO  VE  IS  BLIND  381 

his  astonished  eyes  determinedly,  holding  him 
firmly  until  he  nodded  his  head  gravely.  Then 
she  ran  across  the  room  to  the  two  ladies  and 
the  bewildered  priest,  crying  to  the  latter: 

"You  must  come  upstairs  and  out  of  danger, 
Father.  We  have  no  time  to  lose.  Good  luck 
to  you.  Lord  Saxondale!"  and  she  turned  an 
excited  face  to  the  three  men  who  stood  near 
the  door. 

"He  shall  not  have  you,  Dorothy,"  cried 
Quentin.     "He  must  kill  me  first." 

"Trust  to  Lord  Saxondale's  diplomacy, 
Phil,"  she  said,  softly,  as  she  passed  him  on 
hPT  way  to  the  stairs. 


XXXI 

HER    IV AY 

The  grim  smile  that  settled  on  the  faces  of 
the  three  men  after  the  women  and  the  trem- 
bling priest  had  passed  from  the  hall,  was  not 
one  of  amusement.  It  was  the  offspring  of  a 
desperate,  uneasy  courage. 

"Quentin,  the  safety  of  those  women  up- 
stairs depends  on  your  thoughtfulness.  You 
must  leave  this  affair  to  me.  We  can't  keep 
them  waiting  any  longer.  Gad,  they  will  tear 
down  the  historic  gate  I  had  so  much  difficulty 
in  building  last  year.  Wait  for  me  here.  I  go 
to  meet  the  foe." 

Turk  was  standing  in  the  courtyard  with  a 
revolver  in  his  hand.  Lord  Bob  commanded 
him  to  put  away  the  weapon  and  to  "stow  his 
bellicoseness."  Mere  chance  caused  Turk  to 
obey  the  command  in  full;  half  of  it  he  did  not 
understand.  The  voices  outside  the  gate  were 
much  more  subdued  than  his  lordship  ex- 
pected, but  he  did  not  know  that  Prince  Ugo 
had  warily  enjoined  silence,  fearing  the  flight 
of  the  prey. 

382 


HER   WAY  383 

"Who  is  there?"  called  Lord  Bob,  from  the 
inside 

"Are  you  Lord  Saxondale?"  demanded  a 
guttural  voice  on  the  outside. 

"I  am.  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  dis- 
turbance?" 

"We  are  officers  of  the  government,  and  we 
are  looking  for  a  person  who  is  within  your 
walls.     Open  the  gate,  my  lord." 

"How  am  I  to  know  you  are  officers  of  the 
law?  You  may  be  a  pack  of  bandits.  Come 
back  to-morrow,  my  good  friends." 

"I  shall  be  compelled  to  break  down  your 
gate,  sir,"  came  from  without,  gruffly. 

"Don't  do  it.  The  first  man  who  forces  his 
way  will  get  a  bullet  in  his  head.  If  you  can 
give  me  some  assurance  that  you  are  officers 
and  not  thieves,  I  may  admit  you."  Lord 
Bob  was  grinning  broadly,  much  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  the  servant  who  held  the  lantern. 
There  were  whispers  on  the  outside 

"Prince  Ravorelli  is  with  us,  my  lord.  Is  he 
sufficient  guarantee?"   asked  the  hoarse  voice. 

"Is  Giovanni  Pavesi  there,  also?"  asked 
Saxondale,  loudly. 

"I  do  not  know  him,  my  lord.  The  prince's 
companions  are  strangers  to  me.  Is  such  a 
person  here?"     Lord  Bob  could  almost  see  the 


384  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

look  on  Ugo's  face  when  the  question  was  put 
to  him. 

"I  never  heard  the  name,"  came  the  clear 
voice  of  the  Italian.  "My  friends  are  well 
known  to  Lord  Saxondale.  He  remembers 
Count  Sallaconi  and  the  Duke  of  Laselli.  Two 
men  from  Brussels  are  also  here— Captains 
Devereaux  and  Ruz." 

"I  recognize  the  prince's  voice,"  said  Saxon- 
dale, unlocking  the  gate.  "Come  inside,  gen- 
tlemen," he  said,  as  he  stood  before  the  group. 
"Sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  you  know, 
but  it  is  wise  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  So  you 
are  looking  for  some  one  who  is  in  my  castle? 
May  I  inquire  the  name  of  that  person?" 

"You  know  very  well.  Lord  Saxondale," 
said  Ugo,  now  taking  the  lead.  He  stood 
boldly,  defiantly  before  the  Englishman. 

"Carmenita  Malban  is  dead,  your  excel- 
lency," said  Bob,  coolly. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
sir,"  grated  the  prince.  "Dorothy  Garrison  is 
here,  held  against  her  will,  and  I,  her  affianced 
husband,  command  you  to  surrender  her." 

"Have  you  the  authority  to  take  her,  if  I 
refuse  to  obey?"  asked  the  other,  with  exas- 
perating coolness. 

"These  officers  have  the  authority  to  arrest 


HER   WAY  385 

you  and  to  take  her  from  your  hands,  violently, 
if  necessary." 

"Oh,  well,  that  makes  a  difference,  of 
course.  Miss  Garrison  is  here.  Prince  Ravorelli, 
but  I  doubt  your  authority  to  take  her  away." 

"There  is  a  reward  for  her,  dead  or  alive," 
said  Court  Sallaconi,  savagely. 

"And  for  the  abductors,"  added  the  burly 
man  from  Luxemburg.  "I  shall  have  to 
place  you  under  arrest,  my  lord." 

"One  moment,  my  good  man.  Miss  Garrison 
is  her  own  mistress,  I  believe?"  addressing 
the  prince. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  but  it  maybe  im- 
portant. If  you  will  kindly  request  your  fol- 
lowers to  remain  in  the  courtyard,  you  may 
enter  the  castle  and  converse  with  Miss 
Garrison  herself.  Prince  Paves — I  should  say 
Ravorelli."  There  was  a  wild,  hunted  look  in 
the  Italian's  eyes,  and  there  was  murder  in  his 
heart.  "I  will  ask  you  and  the  count  and  the 
duke  and  Officer  Luxemburg  to  come  with 
me." 

With  rare  dignity  Lord  Saxondale  strode 
across  the  flags  and  deliberately  threw  open 
the  huge  castle  door.  After  a  moment  of  inde- 
cision and  not  a  little  trepidation.  Prince  Ugo 


386  CA  STLE  CRANE  YCRO  W 

followed,  with  his  two  countrymen  not  far 
behind.  The  Luxemburg  officer  gave  hurried 
instructions  to  his  men  and  took  his  place 
among  the  favored  few. 

It  was  a  sharply-drawn  hiss,  ending  in  a  tri- 
umphant "ah,"  that  came  from  the  lips  of  Ugo 
when  he  was  face  to  face  with  Philip  Quentin. 
His  glittering  eyes  plainly  said  that  his  sus- 
picions were  confirmed.  The  discovery  of  the 
fact,  a  week  before,  that  the  two  Americans 
had  not  sailed  for  New  York  provided  the 
foundation  for  a  shrewd  guess  and  he  had  not 
been  wrong. 

"It  is  as  I  suspected,"  he  said,  tersely.  "I 
trust  I  am  not  too  late  to  save  Miss  Garrison 
from  outrage." 

"One  moment,  please,"  commanded  Lord 
Bob.  "You  are  here  through  sufferance,  and 
you  must,  for  the  time  being,  imagine  yourself 
a  gentleman.  If  you  care  to  talk  over  the 
situation  with  us  while  we  wait  for  Lady 
Saxondale  and  Miss  Garrison,  I  shall  be  only 
too  glad  to  have  you  do  so.  Will  you  be 
seated,  gentlemen?" 

"We  are  not  here  to  be  directed  by  you, 
Lord  Saxondale.  We  have  tracked  this  scoun- 
drel to  earth,  and  we  are "  Ugo  was  saying 

hotly  when  his  lordship  turned  on  him  sternly. 


HER   WAY  387 

"Mr.  Quentin  is  my  guest.  Another  remark 
of  that  character  and  I  will  throw  you  bodily 
from  the  room.  This  is  my  house,  Prince 
Ravorelli."  Paying  no  heed  to  the  malevolent 
glare  in  the  Italian's  eyes,  Saxondale  turned 
and  bade  a  servant  ask  Miss  Garrison  to  come 
down  if  it  pleased  her  to  do  so. 

"I  presume  Brussels  is  very  much  excited 
over  Miss  Garrison's  disappearance,"  said  he 
to  the  livid-faced  prince, 

"Brussels  is  horrified,  but  she  will  rejoice  to- 
morrow. Thank  God,  we  have  not  toiled  in 
vain." 

"Sit  down.  May  I  inquire  for  the  health  of 
Mrs.  Garrison?"  The  four  newcomers,  more 
or  less  ill  at  ease,  sat  down  with  Lord  Bob,  the 
two  Americans  standing.  Quentin  leaned 
against  the  big  post  at  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
his  face  the  picture  of  gloomy  defiance. 

"I  am  not  her  physician,  sir." 

"Hoity-toity!  She  is  quite  well,  then,  I 
may  reasonably  infer.  Can  you  tell  me 
whether  she  is  in  Brussels?" 

"She  will  be  in  Luxemburg  in  the  morning, 
if  my  message  reaches  her  to-night.  But  we 
are  not  here  for  the  purpose  of  bandying  words 
with  you,  sir.  This  house  must  be  searched, 
whether  you  like  it  or  not.     Captain,  call  in 


388  CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

your  men,"  cried  the  prince,  his  rage  getting 
the  better  of  him. 

"You  will  find  that  the  door  is  barred,  cap- 
tain," said  Saxondale,  easily.  The  expression 
that  came  into  the  faces  of  the  four  men  was 
one  not  soon  to  be  forgotten.  For  a  full  min- 
ute there  was  absolute  silence. 

"Do  you  mean  that  we  are  prisoners?"  de- 
manded Ugo,  his  teeth  showing,  but  not  in  a 
smile. 

"Not  at  all.  The  door  has  a  habit  of  lock- 
ing itself." 

"I  command  you  to  open  that  door!"  cried 
the  prince,  looking  about  him  like  a  trapped 
rat.  He  snarled  with  rage  when  he  saw  the 
smile  on  Quentin's  face.  Dickey's  sudden 
chuckle  threw  dismay  into  the  ranks  of  the 
confident  besiegers. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  gentlemen,"  said 
Saxondale.  "The  door  shall  be  opened  in 
good  time.    Ah,  I  think  the  ladies  are  coming." 

As  he  spoke  Dorothy  and  Lady  Saxondale 
appeared  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  Ugo  would 
have  dashed  up  to  meet  them  had  not  the  two 
Americans  blocked  the  way.  Slowly  Dorothy 
came  down  the  oaken  steps,  followed  by  Lady 
Saxondale.  Lady  Jane  and  Father  Bivot  were 
not  far  behind  them. 


HER   WAY  389 

"Dorothy!"  cried  Ugo.  "Thank  heaven,  I 
have  found  you!" 

She  stopped  on  the  bottom  step,  within  arm's 
length  of  Philip  Quentin.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment of  indecision,  a  vivid  flush  leaped  into 
her  lovely  cheek,  and  then  her  hand  went 
quickly  forth  and  rested  on  Quentin's  shoulder. 
He  started  and  looked  at  her  for  the  first 
time. 

"I  am  sorry,  Ugo,  for  the  wrong  I  have 
done  you,"  she  said,  steadily,  but  her  hand 
trembled  convulsively  on  Phil's  shoulder. 
Mechanically  he  reached  up  and  took  the  slim 
fingers  in  his  broad,  strong  hand  and  rose  to 
the  step  beside  her. 

"The  wrong?"  murmured  the  prince,  me- 
chanically. 

"In  running  away  from  you  as  I  did,  she 
said,  hurriedly,  as  if  doubt'ng  her  power  to 
proceed.  "It  was  heartless  of  me,  and  it  sub- 
jected you  to  the  cruelest  pain  and  humilia- 
tion. I  cannot  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  You 
should  despise  me." 

"Despise  you?"  he  gasped,  slowly.  The 
truth  began  to  dawn  on  two  men  at  the  same 
time.  Ugo's  heart  sank  like  a  stone  and 
Quentin's  leaped  as  if  stung  by  an  electric 
shock.       His    figure     straightened,    his    chin 


390  CASTLE  CRANEYCRO  IV 

was  lifted,  and  the  blood  surged  from  all  parts 
of  his  body  to  his  turbulent  heart. 

"I  loved  him,  Prince  Ravorelli,  better  than 
all  the  world.  It  was  a  shameless  way  to  leave 
you,  but  it  was  the  only  way,"  she  said,  her 
voice  full.  Then  she  lifted  her  eyes  to 
Quentin's  and  for  the  moment  all  else  was 
forgotten. 

"My  God,  you — you  did  not  leave  Brussels 
of  your  own  free  will!"  cried  the  prince,  his 
eyes  blazing.  Sallaconi  and  Laselli  moved 
toward  the  door  and  the  police  officer's  face 
was  a  study. 

"I  ran  away  with  the  man  I  love,"  she 
answered,  bravely. 

"It  is  a  lie!"  shrieked  the  Italian.  Saxon- 
dale  seized  his  hand  in  time  to  prevent  the 
drawing  of  a  revolver  from  his  coat  pocket. 
''Damn  you!     This  is  a  trick!" 

"You  have  Miss  Garrison's  word  for  it,  your 
excellency.  She  was  not  abducted,  and  your 
search  has  been  for  naught,"  said  the  big 
Englishman.  "There  are  no  abductors  here. 
The  famous  abduction  was  a  part  of  the 
game  and  it  was  abetted  by  the  supposed 
victim." 

"But  there  is  a  reward  for  her  return  to 
5  Brussels,"  interrupted  the  Luxemburg  ofificial, 


HER   WAY  391 

speaking  for  the  first  time.  "I  must  Insist 
that  she  come  with  me." 

"The  reward  is  for  Doroth}''  Garrison,  is  it 
not?"  demanded  Saxondale. 

"Yes,  my  lord." 

"Well,  as  you  cannot  get  out  of  the  castle 
and  your  friends  cannot  get  into  it  until  we 
open  the  doors,  there  is  absolutely  no  possi- 
bility of  your  taking  Dorothy  Garrison  to 
Brussels." 

"Do  you  mean  to  oppose  the  law?"  cried 
Ugo,  panting  with  rage. 

"Gentlemen,  as  the  host  in  Castle  Craney- 
crow,  I  invite  you  to  witness  the  marriage  cere- 
mony which  is  to  make  it  impossible  for  you 
to  take  Dorothy  Garrison  to  Brussels.  You 
have  come,  gentlemen — a  trifle  noisily  and 
unkindly,  I  admit — just  in  time  to  witness  the 
wedding  of  my  two  very  good  friends  who 
eloped  with  the  sound  of  wedding  bells  in 
their  ears.  Father  Bivot,  the  bride  and  groom 
await  you." 

"Dorothy,  my  darling,"  whispered  Quentin. 
She  turned  her  burning  face  away. 

"It  is  my  way,  Phil.  I  love  you,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

THE   END 


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